


everything (is a really big word)

by an_intronerd



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Come Eating, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia and Jaskier | Dandelion are Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon's Parents, Hand Jobs, Heavy Petting, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, Post-Canon Fix-It, Post-Episode: S01E06 Rare Species, Reconciliation, i just wanted them to have cute moments okay, i made ciri younger than she is in the show sue me, now for the nsfw tags ;)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-01
Updated: 2020-07-01
Packaged: 2021-03-03 01:27:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 10
Words: 28,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24086593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/an_intronerd/pseuds/an_intronerd
Summary: Eight long months after Jaskier walked away from Geralt on Borch's mountaintop, the Witcher finds himself captured and held hostage by a Nilfgaardian lord on the hunt for his Lion cub. Everything is fine until the bastard drags in a familiar bard, and then nothing is fine.This is the story of what happens when Jaskier rescues them both from Nilfgaard's evil grasp and everything that follows after.(The compulsory Geraskier-Reconciliation-Fic feat. stolen horses, emotional moments in the moonlight, and Geralt's slow journey to realizing he has Feelings. Oh, and Geraskier being The Best Dads™.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 66
Kudos: 408





	1. Chapter 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> geralt and jaskier meet in what could only be considered terrible circumstances, for the first time since the mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so!
> 
> this is my first foray into writing for the witcher fandom. i am a huge fan of the netflix adaptation, so the characters are based on that interpretation. i have yet to read the books, and i've never played the video games lol, so there may be some inaccuracies or things that i took creative liberties in when writing, so be warned! i tried my best to stay true to the characters i've watched, and I'm quite happy with this fic in general. this is the first chapter, but i've written the whole thing already, and i am just posting it as i edit for a final time.
> 
> gosh, it's also the first time i've ever written a multi-chaptered work! i haven't written creatively in, oh, a couple of years, and the first thing i write after so long ends up being like, gigantic. it's kind of crazy to me that i actually did that!
> 
> also i saw a post on tumblr a little while ago that was like: make sure to warn about any possibly triggering things so that readers are aware! be mindful authors!
> 
> which i absolutely agree with! i, personally, don't have like major trauma or triggers, and so it was never something i was truly thinking of before, but that post made me realize that it is important. there are brief mentions of the various ways in which geralt was hurt during the time he was held captive. it isn't too graphic or traumatizing, i think. this isn't meant to be that kind of fic. however, it's better to be safe than sorry, so i thought i'd mention it. it's definitely not as dark as some works i've read, he just gets beaten up a bit? 
> 
> just, please be careful! 
> 
> anyways, sorry to babble on for so long! on to the story!

_ Look, why don't we leave tomorrow? _

It was telling that in what might possibly be his last moments, all he could think about was his bard, Geralt reflected. He coughed, spitting out a mouthful of coppery red as another Nilfgaardian soldier placed a well-aimed kick to the gut.

_That is, if you'll give me another chance to prove myself a… worthy travel companion._

Gloved fingers gripped his hair and yanked his head back. Through slitted eyes, Geralt barely registered the fist headed for his jaw. Knuckles met skin and his head thunked against the stone behind him. He should have told Jaskier there was no need to prove himself, that he has been a better friend than Geralt could have ever hoped for. It was Geralt that needed to prove himself worthy of the unwavering compassion and loyalty Jaskier had shown over the two decades they had travelled the continent together. 

_We could head to the coast. Get away for a while._

Such an innocent request, a suggestion made not for anything else but to give Geralt a reprieve from all the unjust horrors of the world, a peaceful escape. He’d wanted nothing in return but Geralt’s company. And what had Geralt given him instead? Lies blurted in a moment overcome with anger and rage, tearing apart the entirety of their friendship and shoving away the only person who had chosen to stay by his side time and time again, despite having a thousand reasons to walk away. Geralt didn’t have many regrets, life as a Witcher didn’t allow for them, but if he could change one thing, it would be that day on the mountain.

_Life is too short. Do what pleases you… while you can._

He’d thought about that particular sentiment a lot after Jaskier had left. He’d come upon the clearing where he’d left Roach, half-hoping to see the minstrel strumming some nonsensical tune, but all that Jaskier had left behind was the faint scent of lavender and cedarwood, and a hint of salty bitterness that he could describe only as sadness in the air. 

_Do what pleases you…_

Only, Witchers didn’t indulge in their wants, and Geralt wasn’t sure what that would be, anyway. He’d thought it might be Yennefer, on that mountain. She hadn’t been vulnerable, but in those moments, tucked away in a tent and hidden from the world, he thought it may have been the closest he’d ever come to seeing her be _open_. He’d let himself believe for one foolish moment that what they’d found together, may survive whatever Destiny would throw at them. It hadn’t.

He'd spent the next few months alone, which wasn't new to him. But he'd also been incredibly lonely, and that was a novel feeling for the Witcher. He had become so accustomed to having Jaskier in his space all the time, walking next to him as he rode on Roach, attaching himself to the Witcher's back on the single bedroll Geralt owned on nights they were too far from a village with a decent inn and a proper bed… 

He had come to expect the sound of Jaskier's soft snores and steady heartbeat to lull him to sleep each night, just as he expected the sun to rise the next morning. He huffed. Jaskier was meant to be the poet, not him.

Then, he had found Ciri, or she had found him, and the loneliness melted away a bit. In the months they spent moving from one village to the next, Geralt slaying monsters just regularly enough to keep them fed and bathed, he learned to be a caretaker. This little girl, regardless of how much power she may possess, depended on him, trusted him to protect her, and he felt himself softening and moulding into the guardian she needed. 

They'd been staying in a small tavern in Dorndal, and he had picked up a contract about a griffin attacking a nearby farmhouse, slaughtering the livestock. Geralt had been reluctant to accept, but Ciri had needed a thicker cloak for the coming winter. He had left her at the tavern with clear instructions to take Roach and ride towards Kaedwen if he failed to return by sundown the following day when he had been ambushed. He had chosen to surrender, knowing that there were most likely men ready to track him back to Ciri if he managed to escape. 

Now, he was trapped in a dingy cell, with no idea of whether or not Ciri had followed his instructions. All he could do was hope and pray to Melitele that she'd left Dorndal, and was headed to the Witcher stronghold. If she could just make it to Kaer Morhen…

“I’m not surprised you’ve yet to break, Witcher,” a new voice remarked above the sounds of a steel-toed boot making contact with his unclothed flank, just below his ribs. At one point during his imprisonment, he’d been stripped to his trousers. The barbed whips were more effective against bare skin, presumably. “Your kind has always been known to be stubbornly resilient.”

Geralt grunted, not bothering to raise his eyes. Not acknowledging these assholes often wounded their ego. That meant they’d make some stupid mistake in anger, allowing Geralt to escape. Or, at the very least seriously maim his captor. 

The man chuckled, stalking forward and crouching in front of his prisoner. The guards he had been surrounded by backed away. 

"Lord Beldin, sir," they murmured as they retreated. Arms crossed and head tilted to the side, the new stranger smirked.

"All the pain you're enduring, and for what?" Beldin began, meeting Geralt's molten gaze, "Just direct me to wherever you've hidden that child you're traipsing the continent with, and you can have your freedom back."

Geralt growled at the mention of Ciri. He'd die a thousand deaths before he let these bastards touch a hair on her head. 

"Fuck off," he gruffs, voice hoarse from disuse. The concept of time had become increasingly irrelevant the longer he was held in the dreary dungeon. There were no windows in the cell, so say and night had melded into one until he couldn't distinguish between the two. His days had been sorted into torture and rest, torture and rest on an endless loop.

"Ah, I'm afraid I can't do that. See, there's quite a reward set for anyone who manages to deliver the lost princess to the Nilfgaardian ruler," Beldin stated, his voice deceptively gentle, "As well, a high-ranking position in the King's court. I plan on collecting."

_Fucking predictable_ , Geralt scoffed, _another greedy human hungry for power, and willing to sacrifice innocent lives to get it_. He was sure though, that they'd never get Ciri. He would not allow it.

Just as he was preparing to reply, Geralt heard footsteps rushing towards the cell he was held in, and a guard burst through the gate. He makes his way closer and Beldin rises. 

"Apologies, my Lord, but we've found him, the Viscount," the guard spoke whilst leaning closer, words hushed but not enough to escape the Witcher's enhanced hearing. His skin prickled as the news brought a dark, twisted smile to Beldin's face. That couldn't mean anything good. 

Beldin clapped his hands twice, turning on his heel to face the Witcher once again. "Well, bring him in then! I'm sure our dear guest here would love to…” he paused, smirking, “...reunite with his bard once again." The guard nodded and retreated. 

Geralt's blood froze. He was thankful for the loose strands of silver hair shielding his face, then, because he couldn't stop his face from twisting in panic at Beldin's words. Geralt hadn't seen Jaskier once in the months since the mountain but he had heard rumours the troubadour had secured himself a position playing in the Stael court. He had been safe, but now —

Suddenly, the familiar smell of lavender and cedarwood permeated his senses, the normally lovely scent soured by notes of something acidic. His bard was afraid. The guard from earlier strode into the cell, followed by two more dragging a kicking Jaskier behind them.

"Gentlemen, I assure you, whoever you're looking for, you've got the wrong man!" Jaskier had yet to notice the Witcher hung from chains, bruised and bleeding against the back wall. "I am but a humble travelling poet, spreading joy and — " 

He was cut off as the first guard drove a fist into his abdomen. Jaskier wheezed, falling forward just to be roughly pulled up again. Beldin clucked his tongue like the pretentious asshole that he was.

"Hello, bard," he greets, "we are so very glad you've joined us, aren't we, Witcher?"

Jaskier's breath hitched at those words. He swung his head around, gaze frantically searching the cell until finally landing on Geralt. Their eyes met, Jaskier's blue orbs blown wide, shock and fear clear in their depths. Geralt's own held regret. He hoped that Jaskier could see the unspoken apology in them, for this and for everything. 

Jaskier inhaled, breaking their gaze and glaring up at Beldin. 

"What have you done to him?" he breathed, muscles tensing, spine straight as if replaced with a rod of steel.

“Well, my dear friend,” Beldin’s condescending voice grated on Geralt’s nerves. “It seems that your Witcher is unwilling to hand over the Cintran princess, and so I thought it was time to bring in a little… motivation. It is a shame that you will not live to grace my court with your music. You do have a  _lovely_ voice.” 

“Let him go, Beldin,” Geralt croaked, “he’s got nothing to do with me.”

At the sound of his voice, Jaskier glanced over at Geralt once again. There was a defiant glint in his eyes, this time, under the veil of fear. Geralt narrowed his eyes.  _Fuck_. His bard was planning something, and it would no doubt get them both killed. Hopefully, Ciri would be hidden away within the walls of Kaer Morhen, training day and night, becoming a fearsome warrior as was Destiny’s wish. Geralt knew without a single doubt that his brothers and former mentor would raise her well if he failed to return. He just hoped she wouldn’t resent him for failing her. 

“Well, we will just have to see about that, won’t we?” the lord chirped, turning to face the trouvère once more.“Now, bard, would you care to share any information you have regarding the whereabouts of our lost Lion cub?”

“Why, of course, my lord,” Jaskier scoffed, “but first, I’d love to know where your bravery has wandered off to. Up your wrinkled bottom, perhaps?”

That earned him a solid punch to the gut from his handlers. He groaned, crumpling in on himself. Geralt winced, unable to do anything but watch. Beldin looked on, ever the benevolent baron. “Gentlemen, let the man go,” he commands, and Jaskier falls limp to the ground. “Shall we try again, bard? Where is — ”

“I mean, come on," Jaskier rasped out, clutching his stomach, seemingly ignorant of the lord's growing irritation. "It hardly seems a fair fight to have the Witcher tied up as you’ve done while you beat him with your barbed whips and chains.” 

Jaskier rose to his feet. Beldin’s mouth tightened at the implication. He crossed his arms, as Jaskier continued to blabber. 

“Surely, a man of your stature could take on one so weak as our White Wolf, here? Why, he looks as if he's been run over by an ox,” Geralt’s face twitched at the comparison. Unbidden, a memory of Jaskier’s affronted face comes to mind when Geralt had made a similar comparison, in a thinly-veiled effort to humiliate the bard. It seemed like a lifetime ago, that night in Cintra. “Or, perhaps the great lord Beldin isn’t as fearless or formidable as he claims?”

Geralt watched on as Jaskier fumbled with his doublet, brushing off invisible dust and readjusting the strap of his lute case to appear cool and collected. He absent-mindedly undid and redid the buttons on his sleeves. For a moment, Geralt saw a glint of silver, too small and thin to be any kind of blade, before it disappeared. Jaskier shifted, and the cufflinks he had on glinted again. As the bard continued to taunt their captor, Beldin’s expression grew darker and darker. Geralt could see he was growing increasingly aggravated. 

“It wouldn't surprise me in the least,” exclaimed Jaskier, seemingly unperturbed by the glaring baron, “after all, you well-fed, wealthy types are hardly capable of beating a trained squire, much less a Witch — ”

It seemed Beldin had had his fill of Jaskier’s insults, choosing then to charge at the bard. He clocked the man across the face, and Jaskier reeled back, sinking to the ground for a second — third? — time. He groaned, blood dripping down his chin from the split lip.

“Tie him next to the Witcher, and show him how miscreants are treated,” Beldin grouched to his guards, “I do hope for your sake that you are more amenable to revealing the child's location tomorrow, bard.”

With those final words, Beldin strode out of the cell. Two men took hold of Jaskier, still panting on the stone floor, and dragged him to a set of chains a few feet from Geralt. As they secured Jaskier to the wall, it hit Geralt that this was the first time in nearly eighteen months that he was going to be alone with the bard. The poet, for his part, didn’t protest much other than to wince when his case dug into his back as he was chained up. Soon, only Geralt and Jaskier remained.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh ma gah! first chapter! 
> 
> leave your thoughts, comments, criticisms below! i would love to hear your opinions about this story so far!
> 
> [tumblr](http://an-intronerd.tumblr.com/) :)


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> bard to the rescue! and some stealing of horses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> in this chapter, there is some violence. i don't know that it's very graphic, but my judgement may also be wildly different from that of other people, so!
> 
> readers, be warned! there's a bit of a fight scene when our boys escape!

The bard moaned and shifted, raising his head and attempting to wipe his bloodied chin against the curve of his left shoulder. Geralt watched quietly as his cellmate shook his head, and then glanced over.

“Good to see you, Witcher,” Jaskier was the one to break the silence, voice not quite monotone, but close. None of the haughtiness or false bravado remained in his tone, but there was no warmth to be found either. “I gather you’ve finally found your Child Surprise?”

“Hn,” Geralt grunted, unsure how to respond. He’d been expecting Jaskier to be enraged considering how Geralt had treated him the last time they’d seen one another. If not that, then at the very least annoyed at their current predicament. For once, his bard wasn’t the one to get them into unnecessary trouble. Geralt didn’t know what to make of this… indifferent Jaskier. His chest felt weighed down as if some great force was pushing on his sternum with the sole purpose of suffocating him.

“As articulate as ever, dear Witcher,” he continued, bitterness seeping into his voice before it was replaced with a more familiar loftiness. The pressure on his chest eased slightly. “Well, as much as I’m enjoying this  _delightful_ reunion, I’d quite like to escape. Any ideas? No? Well, fear not — ”

Jaskier seemed to be seconds away from full useless-chatter mode and all Geralt could focus on was that his bard had yet to say his name. It had been Witcher or White Wolf, but not Geralt, not once. Granted, the circumstances they found themselves in weren’t the best, but it caused something in his chest to fracture just a bit. All of a sudden, Geralt was overcome with the relentless itch to… say something, to clear the air between them. As much as Jaskier went on acting as if this was just another one of their adventures, there was a strange, palpable tension surrounding them Geralt could not ignore.

“Jaskier.” 

“Wh — it is incredibly rude when you do that, you know!” Jaskier sputtered indignantly, subconsciously leaning closer to the Witcher. “Have you not learned any manners whilst in the company of our lovely Cintran princess?” 

“ _Jaskier_ ,” Geralt interrupted once more, “That day on the mountain… the things I said — ”

Geralt paused, watching as Jaskier’s expression crumpled for a brief moment before he shut his eyes. Once they opened again, they were devoid of any emotion. 

“...They were harsh and wrong,” Geralt continued, feeling more out of his depth by the second, “I was — angry and I lashed out. You did not deserve that."

Nothing was said for what seemed like an eternity. Geralt waited for a reaction, or acknowledgement,  _anything_ , from his bard, as Jaskier stared blankly ahead. Tendrils of fear gripped tightly at Geralt’s heart, and the grief that he had not let himself feel for nearly a year trickled in. He’d pushed Jaskier too far, and his bard was unwilling to forgive him. He hadn’t expected it, forgiveness, but the reality that he’d lost his oldest friend and lifelong companion brought with it a pain of its own. 

“Thank you for your apology,” Jaskier said finally, voice quiet. He tilted his head up, eyes glittering like sapphires in the low light. “I forgave you a long time ago, dear Witcher, but I think I finally understand that you and I, we're very different people. Maybe, our time's up, you know?" 

Geralt's chest seized, squeezed tighter and tighter by some unseen force.  _No, no,_ no _—_

"Don't get me wrong, what you said hurt, _a lot_ , and it made me angry too, because twenty-two years, Geralt, _twenty-two_ , more than half my _life_ … but — " his lips trembled but his gaze remained steady, " Look, I can't regret the years I spent by your side, but I got your message loud and clear. You won’t see me again, once we escape this dreadful dungeon.”

Geralt’s heart stopped completely. His bard wasn’t getting the _point_. Geralt wasn’t implying he — he wanted Jaskier to _stay_ — he didn’t think he could watch Jaskier walk away again, not after having _just found him_ — and _oh_ — if he could, he’d never let Jaskier, _his_ bard leave again, would never let him feel like he wasn't wanted because he _was_. 

How he’d been so blind to his own damn  _feelings_ , he didn't know.

“I’ll be out of your hair soon enough, we just have to wait until night descends — ” Geralt growled in frustration, startling both of them.

“Jaskier, you don’t _understand_ ,” the Witcher cut in. Jaskier’s mouth snapped shut, bewildered eyes gazing back. “I want — you to stay."

Silence, then — 

"What?" Jaskier faltered, confusion written plainly across his face, "Geralt — what?" 

Geralt breathed deeply, lowering his eyes. Ciri had taught him to use his words, explain things instead of grunting. Not everyone was as expert a translator of Geralt-speak as Jaskier. 

With her, he had realized early on that his usual method of communication wouldn't work. She was young, and she took his silence, sprinkled with the occasional grunt or growl as displeasure and disdain. She couldn't trust him to protect her if she thought he saw her as a burden. He had started to tell her about his hunts at first, or the best ways to hunt for food in the forests between villages. Gradually, she began to respond, sometimes sharing with him her own stories, memories of playing in the streets dressed as a boy or learning to ride horses with Eist. As they grew closer, Geralt learned to articulate his emotions better, and soon it was as easy as breathing to tell her when he was frustrated about a hunt or impressed at her ever-improving skills with the rapier he had gotten her.

He called those skills to the forefront now. If there was even the slightest possibility that Jaskier would forgive him, and join him again, he'd take it. He'd do whatever it took to earn back Jaskier's friendship if nothing else. A roach skittered across the floor, and Geralt's eyes trailed it to where Jaskier's knees met the dirty floor.

"Geralt, don't be cruel, please," the bard's voice broke into his thoughts, pleading, "just once, tell me what you mean — "

A sudden clanging rang out, silencing Jaskier mid-sentence. One of the guards on duty had come down the corridor to their cell, banging his sword on the metal gate.

"Oi, Witcher! Not so might now, are ya?" the man taunted, yellowing teeth glinting, "Look at ya, tied up like the monstrous  _freak_ a' nature that y'are."

Geralt glared, wishing for a moment he could call upon a Djinn to get rid of the fucker. The words didn't bother him. He'd many lived lifelines, had heard much worse from better people than some lowly guard. 

Before he could continue, however, the guard was pulled away by another. Geralt caught only pieces of their conversation.

_Shift change… Leaving tomorrow… Scouts ahead_ … The voices faded as they moved further away. _Shit_ . He tensed, hissing when he mistakenly aggravated his injuries. If Beldin was going to actively hunt for Ciri again, then that meant he no longer believed his prisoners had any use.

He glanced over at Jaskier again, to find his bard staring back, lips pressed together in determination. 

"We need to leave, don't we? I mean, obviously, but," the minstrel began, curling his left wrist at an odd angle and wriggling his cuffed arm. "I thought we'd have more time, but Cirilla is in danger."

Geralt peered as Jaskier seemed to struggle uselessly against the chains holding his arms in place. The case banged against the wall.

"What are you doing?" Geralt's gruff voice halted Jaskier's movements. His bard smiled, equal parts sly and sheepish. He shifted his arm so that the palm of his chained hand was facing Geralt, and the Witcher's keen eyes caught the sight of a thin, steel pin, no longer than the bard's pinky. It clicked then that the pin was what Geralt had seen glinting earlier. He watched, slightly in awe, as Jaskier resumed his twisting and turning, except now, it no longer seemed mindless. He was picking the lock on his shackles.

Within minutes, a soft clink sounded, and Jaskier's arm was free. He made quick work of the other, pausing a moment to rub his tender wrists, before closing the few feet of distance between himself and Geralt. Jaskier was oddly quiet as he freed the Witcher from his chains, and the only sounds in the cell were the rustling of chains and Jaskier's soft, laboured breaths, warm against the skin of his palms. Soon, Geralt was free of his restraints, and he careened forward. 

Jaskier caught him before he could fall face-first into what was probably a puddle of his own blood, placing steadying hands against his chest. Geralt heaved, the pain from his bruised ribs flaring up. One of his arms wound around Geralt.

"Do you think you can get up?" his bard questioned quietly. His eyes darted to the entrance of the cell. "We don't have much time — "

"My bag," the Witcher rasped, tilting his head in the direction of his belongings thrown haphazardly in the corner of the room, "small, blue vial — "

"Fuck, yeah," Jaskier shifted, leaving Geralt to lean back against the stone wall, "that'll work, the healing potion, Swallow, right?" 

He mumbled nonsensically as he darted to the corner, rifling through Geralt's satchel. He huffed triumphantly when he'd found the potion, scrambling back to the Witcher's side. He uncapped the vial, tilting it towards Geralt. Geralt swallowed the potion Jaskier tipped into his mouth, and within moments, he could feel a numbness spread throughout his body. 

"One minute, wait here," Jaskier said, as the potion began to really kick in. He ran off back to the pile and grabbed Geralt's tunic and armour. Geralt nodded gratefully and allowed his bard to help him into it.

Once the flaring pains had reduced to dull aches, Geralt finally stood up. They didn't have much time before the effects of the potion were off. He was not looking forward to the comedown from this. 

Jaskier rose to his feet as well, brushing the dirt from his knees as best as he could. Geralt retrieved his satchel and well as his swords, still safe in their sleeve. He unsheathed the steel blade and gestured to Jaskier to follow.

They made their way silently to the door, where Jaskier spent an additional few minutes picking the lock. Once it clicked open, they hurried out. As they neared the mouth of the hallway, the guards' voices became clearer. Geralt steadied his sword and motioned for his bard to remain where he was. Without waiting for a confirmation, he charged around the corner, startling the two men.

He quickly dispatched them, swinging at the one closer. He sliced the man's unguarded flank as he was reaching for his sword, effectively halting his movements. He crumpled to the floor, and Geralt turned just in time to block the blade headed for his neck. Steel clashed with steel, and Geralt pushed the man back. The guard’s arms strained, before he backed away, swinging again for the Witcher. Geralt ducked, sliding out of reach of his opponent's sword and oh — bad move. 

His ribs agonized at his movements, but he slashed his sword outwards as the guard raised his own blade. The guard fell to his knees, and Geralt turned for Jaskier, who had rounded the corner. They rushed up the stairs and lit corridors. Behind them, they could hear the sounds of clanking armour and raised voices. Geralt led them to the stables, grabbing the reins of one of the horses. The horse neighed in protest, but Geralt pushed himself up onto the saddle. He reached for his bard, and Jaskier held onto his arm, using it to hoist himself up behind Geralt. 

In seconds, they were thundering down the road and out of Dorndal. Jaskier had his arms clutched around Geralt's middle, face pressed against the muscles that joined his neck and shoulder. They rode for hours, their stolen stallion galloping at a quick, steady pace. At some point, the potion Geralt had ingested had worn off, and every jolt caused pain to wrack through his entire body. He'd slumped forward and the only thing keeping him from careening off the horse was Jaskier's arms, securing him in place against the bard's chest. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mm, this felt a teensy bit like a filler chapter to me as i was writing the story, but it also didn't feel right to connect it with the following chapter, i'm sorry if this felt a little slow! it gets better!
> 
> [tumblr](http://an-intronerd.tumblr.com/) :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some mild hurt/comfort. and the naming of one (1) stolen horse!

It was fairly dark, the sky lit up with a thousand stars when Jaskier took the reins from Geralt. He slowed them down and guided the steed to a clearing a little ways from the road. 

"Before you throw a fit," his bard murmured, breath hot against Geralt's ear, "I know we have to find the princess, but you're in no shape to be travelling right now. You're of no use to Cirilla if you're dead, so we're resting here for the night."

Geralt huffed at that, but even he knew that his body needed to recover. He'd been starved for at least a week, if not more, and beaten on top of that. He was dehydrated and weak. Jaskier stopped the horse and slowly slid off, one hand on Geralt to keep him steady. The horse nickered softly, no doubt relieved at the lessened weight. 

"Can you get off?" Jaskier asked, worriedly studying the Witcher. In lieu of a response, Geralt heaved himself off the horse’s back. Pain lanced up his side, but he steadied himself against the horse. Jaskier's hands came to rest on his arms, ready to catch him again. It broke something in him to know that despite how he'd treated Jaskier, the man was still taking care of Geralt. 

"Come on," he directed Geralt to a dry part of the clearing and helped slouch him against a fallen log. "I heard the sounds of a stream nearby. Do you think you can undress by the time I get back?" 

"Hn," Geralt grunted in affirmation, and Jaskier nodded. His hands, which had been absentmindedly stroking his neck, left his skin as his bard got up. He grabbed a waterskin from the saddle and left. Geralt watched Jaskier's retreating back before he sighed, moving to unhook his shoulder straps and chest piece. With difficulty, he shook it off himself, then pulled off the tunic. His ribs screamed in protest, but soon he was bare again. Another few minutes passed, and then Jaskier was back. He'd taken off his doublet, which was now soaking wet from a wash in the stream. 

He knelt down next to Geralt again and smiled hesitantly. 

"We don't have much in the way of bandages or really, any kind of cloth, so this will have to do," he explained as he set the waterskin down and retrieved a dagger from Geralt's bag. With it, he began slicing tears into his once-lovely blue jerkin. Geralt's heart warmed at the thought that Jaskier was willing to sacrifice his beloved doublet for him. Geralt felt a fondness creep up inside him, bringing a small smile to his lips. He really lov — 

"Okay, let's get you bandaged up, yeah?" the poet murmured, startling Geralt out of his thoughts. He opened one of the jars containing a healing salve. He applied it over some of Geralt's deeper wounds, wrapping them in the cloth afterwards. His fingers were gentle as he traced the bruises below his ribs, careful not to push too much for fear of causing more pain. He trailed them up Geralt's body, checking for any missed areas, before moving to caress his face. He dabbed some of the substance on the shallow cuts and purpling bruises on his cheekbone and winced on Geralt’s behalf when they bled a little. After cleaning it with a wet scrap, he tilted Geralt’s head to assess his work. Geralt was sure he looked every bit as hideous as the monstrous mutant that he was, but Jaskier’s touch was so soft, yet sure. There was no hesitation in the way that Jaskier tended to his wounds, twenty-two years of experience making him fast and efficient. His bard’s touch felt almost reverential, though that was wishful thinking on his part, Geralt mused.

Once he was satisfied, Jaskier hummed, stuffing the supplies into their satchel. Then, he picked up the tunic Geralt had cast aside earlier and helped him put it on. Moving away from the Witcher, Jaskier mumbled something about  _ warm fire  _ and _resting for tomorrow_ , and Geralt felt his eyes slipping shut. The last thing he registered was Jaskier's soft murmurs before sleep took him.

He awoke sometime later, closer to dawn though it was still quite dark, and glanced around. Witcher healing meant it would only be a few hours before he was back to perfect health, and he could already feel his body mending itself. The shallower cuts and bruises were already gone, though his ribs still ached something fierce. No doubt, that would be resolved come morning. He closed his eyes for a moment, listening to the still world around him, the quiet interrupted only by his bard's soft snores. 

Jaskier had built a fire at some point, which was still going strong and casting leaping shadows all around their little clearing. The troubadour in question was curled in on himself, sleeping as close to the fire as he could without getting roasted. Jaskier always did get cold easily, Geralt recalled, lips quirking up. 

The ridges from the log he was propped up against were digging uncomfortably into his back, so he shifted forward. Deciding the pain in his side wasn’t going to bring him to his knees, he slowly got up. He stretched cautiously and began to better organize the various items strewn across their grassy glade. Jaskier was an efficient stand-in healer, but he was messy as fuck. He collected the pieces of his armour, as well as Jaskier’s lute case, and placed them all next to the log that their stolen horse was tied to. He then reorganized the contents of his satchel and dug out a pouch filled with oats for Roach. 

He walked over to the horse, tightening the rope securing him to a tree trunk. The horse whinnied, butting his head into Geralt’s shoulder. Geralt chuckled softly, even as pain lanced down his arm, and shoved the horse lightly back. He ran his hands down the horse’s grey mane, petting the stallion.  _He’s a beautiful horse_ , Geralt smiled absentmindedly. He was a gorgeous Dapple grey, definitely fit for a royal or nobleman. 

__

“Oh, no, Geralt, looking to replace Roach?” a sleep-addled voice called out amusingly, cutting into his thoughts. He turned away from the horse, spotting Jaskier sitting up in his place next to the dying fire, mouth stretched in a yawn while shaking bits of dried earth from his hair. The bard grimaced as his nimble fingers got caught in the knotted mess, before deciding it wasn’t worth it and tilting up to look at Geralt.

__

"Roach doesn't need replacing," he answered, the corners of his lips tugging up. 

__

The sky had lightened considerably and the softness of the not-quite-morning made Jaskier look ethereal in a way that Geralt couldn't recall seeing before. Or more likely, he had never taken the time to look. 

__

He intended to fix that.

__

Jaskier yawned again, getting to his feet. He looked around, eyes flitting over to the horse and their things, before glancing hesitantly at Geralt again.

__

"Geralt — "

__

"Jask — "

__

They spoke at once, then startled to a stop. Nothing was said for a moment, then Geralt huffed. This was getting quite ridiculous. They'd never been so… careful around each other. Jaskier felt like a familiar stranger to him, an odd oxymoron that made Geralt's gut churn more than he'd like to admit. It was his doing that brought them here, though, so he pushed on.

__

" _Jaskier_ ," he began, steeling himself to speak more than a few short grunts or hums, "You _are_ my friend. I didn't do this well enough before, but you need to know. You have been my friend since the day we met, even when I was vehemently against it."

__

Jaskier gawked, for once, completely silent. Geralt continued, putting into words the thoughts that had been torturing him for several months, now. 

__

"You have been at my side through every monster battle, every injury, every life-altering event that I have experienced in the time we travelled together," he said, voice clear and honest, "You complain incessantly, you never wear the proper clothes for hunts, and you get us into more trouble than any one human should possibly be allowed," at this, his bard squawked, finally unfreezing but Geralt pushed on, closing the distance between them, "but you have never once failed to support me in any way you could. You have been a better friend than I could have ever hoped to find in this life.

__

"I never should have implied otherwise and I certainly should not have placed blame for my own decisions on your head," he paused, coming to a stop within arms reach of his bard. Jaskier stood stalk still, mouth open, no sounds coming out.

__

"For that, I am truly sorry. If you gave me a chance, I want to be the same for you."

__

Geralt sighed as a weight that had been pressing on him for ages finally lifting off. That seemed to jolt Jaskier back to life, and he flailed. His mouth opened and snapped shut repeatedly until he visibly gathered himself. Swallowing, he raised his eyes to meet Geralt's again. 

__

He'd inadvertently shifted closer, leaving less than a foot's space between them. This close, Geralt could see the specks of brown in his electric blue eyes glitter in the light of the rising sun. His bard was truly breathtaking.

__

Jaskier smiled at him, shaking his head. 

__

"Dear Witcher, I told you. I forgive you," Jaskier said, eyes shining with obvious affection. Had his bard always looked at him like that? So open and honest in his admiration and fondness, without a hint of fear or hesitation when he got close to the Witcher? 

__

"I already did, many months ago. It took time, but I know you weren't angry at me on the mountain. I can't fault you for lashing out, not when I tried to make light of the situation much too soon," he grimaced lightly, "I _am_ sorry about that by the way, and for Yennefer, too."

__

They continued to stare, Jaskier grinning warmly and Geralt felt his lips stretch into a reluctant smile as well. He wondered if Jaskier could read how gone he was for the bard. No words were exchanged for several moments, and then the silence was interrupted by the horse's impatient whickers.

__

That startled both of them out of their… moment and then Jaskier beamed cheekily.

__

"So, does this mean the Witcher and his bard will once again travel alongside each other? Will the great White Wolf continue protecting humanity, slaying one monster at a time, while his humble — and quite charming, might I add — companion spreads the tales of his glorious triumphs all across the continent through melodious tunes and unforgettable lyrics?" Jaskier's arms were gesturing wildly by the end of his spiel, and Geralt's smile widened the slightest bit.  _His bard_ , Jaskier had said. He liked the way that sounded. 

__

He hummed noncommittally, turning before Jaskier could catch the look on his face. The sun had fully risen by that point, and it was high time they got moving. He couldn't be sure how far Ciri had travelled by now, and he couldn't risk the Nilfgaardians catching up to his charge before he did. He strode over to the bound stallion and untied the ropes securing him to the tree, absently listening to the comforting hum of Jaskier’s voice. The song wasn’t one that Geralt was familiar with, but it was soft and achingly sweet. Maybe Jaskier would sing it on their journey towards Ciri and Kaer Morhen.

__

It didn’t take them long to pack their things on their borrowed steed. They didn’t have much, to begin with. There were no blankets or bedrolls to fold up, no excess belongings to rearrange in Roach's saddlebags like the expensive scented soaps and creams Jaskier carried or his frankly unnecessary amounts of chemises and trousers. No rational person needed a doublet in every colour of the rainbow but Geralt never claimed Jaskier as either rational or sane. He could admit he’d grown accustomed to and even enjoyed these small luxuries, especially since Jaskier never hesitated to share his soaps and bath salts with Geralt. Roach certainly didn’t mind the added weight, not when Jaskier always kept a sack full of treats just for her. It was things like that, little gestures Jaskier did so readily that Geralt had been too pigheaded to appreciate before. He wouldn’t make the same mistakes again, though. 

__

Soon, they had cleared their little area of forest, and the horse was saddled and ready to go. He secured his swords to himself, watching as Jaskier cooed at the spotted stallion. 

__

“You need a name, don’t you?” the trouvère chuckled as the horse snorted into his hands. “And we can’t let Geralt name you, Melitele knows he’d probably call you New Roach. Or worse, he’d just call you Horse and you deserve better than that.”

__

To be fair, Jaskier wasn’t that far off. He’d never admit that to the bard, though. 

__

“What would you name him, then?” Geralt grumbled, watching on with growing amusement as the horse nudged Jaskier and huffed in his hair.

__

“Well, what do you think of Pegasus — ” a giggling Jaskier asked, running his hands through the horse’s mane.

__

“No.”

__

“What — why not?” his bard glared, affronted at the quick rejection. His lips curled into a pout as he turned to Geralt.

__

“Pegasus is a wonderful name, and fitting too, it means strong, and aren’t you just the strongest, bravest horse ever…” Jaskier smiled, cooing at the horse again. Geralt huffed.

__

“Pick something else,” he grumped. Pegasus was too long, he felt. Horse names should be simple, monosyllabic, like Roach.

__

“Hm, how about…” Jaskier trailed off, fingers petting the horse’s muzzle, “Pepper?”

__

Geralt paused. Pepper was much better than Pegasus, he admitted, nodding when Jaskier looked over for approval. Jaskier grinned, giving the horse a quick kiss.

__

“Pepper, it is!”

__

Even though Geralt was worried for Ciri and couldn't really bring himself to focus on anything but making sure his Child Surprise was safe and sound in his arms again, he gave himself a moment to be thankful he had Jaskier once more. He didn't think things were back to being just like they were before the mountain, but as Geralt had come to realize, that was a good thing. Right now, he had Jaskier by his side again, smiling and  _safe_. Things would not be the same as before, and that was okay because he would do better this time, would be a better friend to his bard, if nothing else. With that final thought, they were on their way, leaving the little clearing behind as the sun rose steadily higher.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i really liked writing this chapter! the apology bit was the hardest to write, especially since our favourite witcher is not known to be very forthcoming with his words. the thing, though, is that geralt also isn't a complete dunce? i mean, the scene with yennefer on the mountain, when he visits her tent after borch's supposed death shows that he absolutely can communicate with his partner. at that point in the show, he'd had a bit of development as a character, especially when compared to his time with renfri all the way back earlier in the show and his life. 
> 
> idk, i kind of focused on that, and the fact that the geralt in this story, and with all the experiences he's had, would be able to properly articulate his feelings and finally apologize to jaskier! and also, at this point, he's had ciri for some time, and there is no way that he hasn't learned that in order to keep her happy, he needs to do more than say two words a day!
> 
> [tumblr](http://an-intronerd.tumblr.com/) :)


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> uh oh! nilfgaard's on their tail.
> 
> ooh, and there's a little heart-to-heaty between our favourite witcher and his beloved bard.

They had been travelling north for seven days, crossing the Ellanderian border and entering a town on the outskirts of Aedirn when they ran into their first complication. They had been forced to make a stop in Hagge as they didn’t have any proper supplies for the journey further north into the colder regions of the continent. Since neither Geralt nor Jaskier had any coin on them, Geralt had reluctantly taken up a contract to destroy a pair of aeschnae that had been terrorizing the town and killing any being, animal or human, that ventured near the Pontar river. They were willing to pay a hefty sum for the extermination too, and Geralt knew that they’d need it in the following weeks. 

The only good news to come out of the whole ordeal was that there had been no news of anyone even resembling his Child Surprise passing through. Geralt knew Ciri was smart and she had Roach with her, which meant that she had a fair amount of coin and supplies. She would be able to travel well into Kaedwen before she’d need to stop. Geralt had been very clear when he’d instructed her to stay out of sight and head straight to the Wolf stronghold and that if she ever needed to go into town, that she should take special care not to reveal herself to  _anyone_. 

Geralt had dispatched the aeschnae with relative ease, though it had taken him longer than usual. The pair had been newly mated and were extremely protective of each other as a result. Geralt had taken a few more hits than he normally did, but he’d made it back to the inn that he’d left Jaskier in. As he entered through the back, two aeschnae heads bound in cloth and slung over his shoulders, he was pulled immediately into the alcove leading to the stairs. 

Jaskier pulled at him urgently, and Geralt was immediately on high alert. His bard smelled nervous, the lavender overwhelmingly fragrant and tinged faintly with sweat. They hurried to their rented room and Jaskier bolted the door. He turned towards Geralt and wrung his hands.

“How soon can you get the money from the alderman, Geralt?” Jaskier eyed the bound monster heads, eyebrows drawn down. “The sooner we can leave this town, the better.”

“What happened?” Geralt pressed. Jaskier didn’t seem injured, and Geralt had left him in their room with strict orders not to interact with anyone. Still, he knew there had to be a good reason for Jaskier to be this unsettled.

“Well, you know how you said I shouldn’t talk to anyone or sing any songs and sit quietly in this room — don’t look at me like that, we both knew I wasn’t going to listen and besides, you should be glad I did because, well,” Jaskier paused, mouth slanting even further down, “I overheard the innkeeper talking to some farmers coming in from Flotsam, and they were saying how a troop of Nilfgaardian soldiers were heading north and pausing in every city, town, or village in their way, looking for — well,  _you know_. And not just her, but a Witcher-bard duo, which makes things that much harder.”

Jaskier shuffled closer, laying a gentle hand on Geralt’s arm. Geralt shut his eyes, taking in a deep breath. Panic clawed at his lungs at the thought of Ciri getting captured or worse. He focused instead on the soothing way that Jaskier’s fingers stroked down the length of his arm, the heat of them burning through the thick fabric of his shirt. He opened his eyes and met Jaskier’s familiar cornflower blues, filled with worry. Geralt exhaled, releasing some of the tension in his muscles, tilting his head closer to his bard.

“They’re not here, yet, but I don’t know how long it’ll take for them to catch up to us,” Jaskier continued, “and from what I gathered, they’re still in Baiey Most. I just think it’s better if we leave here before anyone thinks to connect the dots. From that atrocious smelling sack you’ve got, I assume the monster hunt was a success?”

Geralt nodded, already altering the route he’d planned in his head. They would have to stretch their supplies until they found Ciri because he couldn’t risk stopping again. He straightened, extricating himself from Jaskier’s light hold and striding towards the door. He turned to ask Jaskier to have their things packed and ready while he dealt with the alderman, but Jaskier was already collecting their belongings. Geralt felt himself soften, the panic receding a little as Jaskier looked over expectantly.

“Go,” he urged, “I’ll have Pepper ready with our things while you get the coin.”

Geralt smiled softly, filling as much gratitude as he could into the gesture. Jaskier beamed back, eyes crinkling before he returned to his task. Geralt turned, leaving with the aeschnae heads.

It didn't take him long to present the severed parts to the alderman. The man grimaced, clearly put off by the sight of bloodied creature heads. He was quick to hand over the pouch of coins.

"450 ducats, as promised, Witcher," the alderman stated, "Hagge thanks you for your service."

Geralt nodded, accepting the pouch. He paused.

"Nilfgaardian soldiers are on their way," Geralt began, waiting until the alderman nodded.

"Yes, there has been some talk," he said uncomfortably. Geralt's eyes narrowed, causing the man to shift back.

"They will come to you, looking for a Witcher and a bard," he ground out, voice deep, "and when they ask if you know about their whereabouts…"

"I know nothing!" the man blurted, hands raised, "I won't say anything!"

Geralt glared for a few more seconds as the alderman began to shift nervously. 

"Good," Geralt murmured menacingly, before swiftly attending out of the building and back to the stables.

He had no doubt that if the alderman was… pressured, he would crack. Hopefully, he and Jaskier will have found Ciri by then.

He reached the stables to find Jaskier leading Pepper out, petting his neck as he argued with the stablekeep. Geralt reached the pair, just in time to hear Jaskier haggling over the price of Pepper's stable.

" — only stayed the night and it isn't even dark, yet. It would be unjust for tiny to have us pay for two consecutive days when it hadn't even been one."

Jaskier huffed, scowling at the other man, who looked seconds away from throwing a punch. Geralt glared at the other man, and the stablekeep faltered. 

He glowered at the bard, before giving in, "Fine, ye can pay fer a single night, but ye better tip the stablehands well, ye hear?"

"We accept, kind sir," Jaskier cheered, leading Pepper away. Geralt handed over a handful of coins before following his bard down the road and out of town.

As the day wore on, Geralt wished he had Roach. It would have been more efficient to have two horses. Pepper had proven himself to be quite capable, carrying both Geralt and Jaskier well out of Hagge. He made it to just a few miles outside of Vergen before he needed rest. It helped that Pepper was bred for the sole purpose of travelling great distances without pause. They had managed to get further than they would have with an average horse. Geralt couldn't stop the anxiety that gripped his heart, though. 

Every moment they spent not moving forward brought Nilfgaard closer to them and by association, Ciri. 

The sun had set long ago, as Geralt had demanded they travel on foot when it was clear that Pepper wouldn't be able to carry them much longer. The dying rays of the sun had been the only source of light illuminating their path as the two men had walked alongside Pepper. By the time Jaskier convinced Geralt to make camp for the night, stars dotted the night sky. It was too dark to hunt for food, and they had to rely on what little they had brought from Hagge. 

They'd brought a single bedroll, and though Jaskier deemed it plenty big enough to share, Geralt muttered that he'd be on the lookout for armed guards while Jaskier slept. As soon as Pepper was secured and fed a few apples in thanks, he settled into a much-needed rest. Jaskier had been wary, citing that Geralt needed rest, too, but the Witcher knew he'd not get a wink whether he was under covers or not. Instead, he settled down with a rag, oil, and his swords, cleaning them to keep his hands and mind busy.

"You've really settled into the role of the constantly worried father, haven't you?" Jaskier murmured, as he burrowed deeper under the blankets, "Not that I doubted you'd make a good one — a father that is, I mean — "

"I'm not her father."

"Well, I mean, of course not biologically," Jaskier continued softly, "You may not share her blood, but that doesn't make you any less her parent. Family is more than that."

Something in Jaskier's voice made Geralt look over, catching the man’s furrowed brows. His eyes held a sorrow that seemed so unnatural on Jaskier. His bard was absurdly cheerful, even in the face of danger. Geralt had watched him goad enemies with a smile on his face, run away from angry fathers or husbands with nervous laughter and half-sincere apologies. Seeing Jaskier so openly… sad caused a desire to wrap his bard in his arms and soothe his pain well up within him. He did that with Ciri, occasionally, when she woke from nightmares of Cintra burning, her grandmother at the centre of all the death and destruction. 

Jaskier caught his gaze, and his eyes cleared. His lips curled up into a soft smile, endlessly fond. Geralt's frown softened in response. 

"I have no doubt we'll find her, Geralt," his bard said determinedly, "she's much stronger than anyone believes, and smart, too. She'll know to stay safe until we can get to her."

Geralt hummed, returning to his blades. He heard Jaskier shuffle more, finally finding a comfortable position. For a while, nothing was said and the only sounds were that of the forest and Jaskier's deep breaths.

If Geralt concentrated, he could have picked out his bard's heartbeat, too.

"Geralt?"

"Hm."

"You won't fail her."

Geralt's breath hitched the slightest bit, hands pausing in their ministrations. He listened quietly as Jaskier's breaths evened out, heartbeat slowing. He smiled, resuming his task.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> idk if i love this chapter or ate it, tbh. 
> 
> i mean, idk if the interactions between ask and geralt felt natural or not. idk, I'm trying to like, build up their relationship again without outright stating it? like, i really want it to feel like a "finally!" moment when these two get together by having all these little moments where geralt sees all that jaskier means to him? and like, comes to appreciate the bard, like when he patches him up or calms geralt's anxieties.
> 
> i know i'm not articulating very well, sorry! just, i hope this was good for you guys!
> 
> [tumblr](http://an-intronerd.tumblr.com/) :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> the journey north continues! ooh, and a monster fight!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again, readers, be aware that there is some graphic descriptions of violence in this chapter. geralt fights a bunch of monsters and he also gets hurt. i don't know if some of you might find that kind of content uncomfortable or triggering, so please be careful!
> 
> as always, enjoy!

They spent the following week travelling alongside the Pontar river, along a well-worn but empty path. This time of year, so close to winter, there weren't many travellers. In any case, Kaedwenians, on the whole, tended to keep to their villages and towns rather than travel.

They'd passed through Vergen and Ban Gleán very quickly. The only reason they even entered towns was so that Jaskier could discreetly check if Ciri was hiding away or had been sighted at all. So far, Jaskier had managed to find out that while the Cintran princess hadn’t made an appearance, a young boy with short blond hair and delicate features had been in Ban Gleán only three days prior. He’d had a Dutch warmblood with him and left within a few hours of his arrival. Pride filled Geralt as Jaskier recounted the details he’d pried out of a local stableboy. His cub had learned well. 

They didn’t stop to restock many items, relying instead on nature to provide for them. Geralt admitted that the November chill had even him wishing for the comforts of a decent inn. The freezing waters of the river and lumpy, too-hard ground left much to be desired. Jaskier had complained endlessly about the lack of warmth after their first night on the outskirts of Vergen, and since then, he had forced Geralt into sharing his bedroll for the added body heat.

It wasn't the first they'd shared sleeping space, nor the first time that Jaskier had demanded Geralt help him stay warm. When Geralt woke the next morning, though, with his nose buried in Jaskier chestnut hair and the scent of lavender and a hint of cedarwood encompassing them, he felt a difference. It might have been that for once, he gave himself time to soak in the feeling of another body wrapped around his, or that Geralt had finally realized exactly what this ridiculous bard meant to him and couldn't bring himself to let go just yet. Whatever it was had him tightening the arm slung over his bard's waist as he let out a contented sigh.

He felt Jaskier's breaths go uneven, his heart speeding up and knew his bard had awoken. Still, Jaskier stayed as he was, not making any indication that he was no longer sleeping. Instead, he burrowed further into Geralt's chest, nosing at his collarbone and letting out short, warm breaths. His hands clutched tighter to the back of Geralt's tunic as he pressed his feet between Geralt's. 

His breaths had slowed again, and Geralt could feel his bard slipping back into sleep. He sighed and decided they could sleep for another hour. After all, the sun wasn't even up, yet.

When Geralt's eyes opened for the second time, the earliest rays of sunshine were just beginning to appear. The sky was coloured in various shades of purples, pinks, and oranges. Geralt untangled himself from Jaskier's hold and set about feeding and tending to Pepper. Jaskier immediately shuffled over to the newly vacated space, seeking rapidly disappearing warmth. As Geralt redid his armour and saddled Pepper, Jaskier yawned.

Jaskier rubbed his eyes as he gazed around the clearing, stopping when cornflower blue met craspedia gold. At the sight of Geralt packing once more, he groaned. 

"Can we have breakfast first, or is that an on-the-road thing, too?" He complained, shrugging off the blankets and reaching for the doublet folded neatly next to the bedroll. He shrugged it on and shuffled to his feet. Geralt watched amusedly as Jaskier attempted to smooth out the mess on his head. 

"Gods, what I wouldn't give a warm bath and a good soap, right now," Jaskier yawned, " it doesn't even have to be hot, the bath, it can be  _lukewarm_. And the soap doesn't have to smell good, just has to do its job, and oh, oh — a  _comb_ , for this horrifying mess — "

Geralt huffed, letting Jaskier ramble on about the finer luxuries in life and how it was a shame Nilfgaard was after them because if he could return to Oxenfurt right now, he would, they had the most wonderful little shop tucked away between a blacksmith's and an apothecary that sold these intricate and unique hair combs and other accessories —

All the while, Jaskier rolled up the makeshift bed and slung his lute case over his shoulder, petting Pepper as he loaded and then climbed the steed. Geralt hummed when Jaskier mentioned travelling to the coast with Ciri come springtime and that last bit of aching faded and he felt he could breathe properly for the first time since the mountain. It hadn't occurred to him just how uncertain he was about Jaskier's plans after they found Ciri.

There had been no sign from Jaskier that he'd planned to stay with them. He'd tried to make peace with the idea that once Ciri was safe, Jaskier would head to whatever court he normally found himself in to spend the winter, far away from any danger, be it in the form of monsters or murderous men. His heart settled, though, knowing that Jaskier not only planned on accompanying the Witcher and his Child Surprise to Kaer Morhen, but that he planned on spending the winter with them as well.

He handed his bard a piece of slightly stale bread and some dried strips of beef, taking some for himself as well, then climbed up on Pepper. Soon enough. they were on their way once again. They stopped briefly to give Pepper time to rest and eat a quick lunch at around noon before continuing along. Jaskier was clearly unused to having to sit still on horseback for hours because the minstrel was constantly moving. Hed fiddle with Pepper's mane, strum his lute nonsensically and shift against Geralt's chest every so often. It was a delicious sort of torture that had Geralt reevaluating whether or not he should have had Jaskier ride with him all along. Jaskier was used to walking, he could keep up if Geralt threw him off. 

This peace they'd found didn't last long, however. When they stopped for the night, a few miles outside of Shaerrawedd, well past where Liksela and Pontar intersected, their second complication arose. 

It was well known that flowing bodies of water like Pontar or Liksela were often infested with various creatures, especially closer to towns and villages. Typically, this late into the year they tended to travel deeper into forests. Destiny was not on their side tonight, Geralt frowned, as he heard scuttling near the river’s edge. He smelled four — no, five drowners just past the thicket of trees separating them from the beasts. 

"Jaskier," he called quietly, as he pulled Pepper to a stop, "there are drowners up ahead, five of them."

Geralt slid off the horse, signalling Jaskier to stay hidden with Pepper. He turned to leave, but Jaskier held him back with a hand on his shoulder. 

"Geralt, take this," he whispered, handing the Witcher a small vial with a coppery solution. Dragon sap. "You probably won't need it, but just in case."

Geralt nodded his thanks. He could hear the vodniks growing closer. He locked eyes with Jaskier.

"Take Pepper further downstream and  _stay hidden_ ," he instructed, "and if I don't return before dawn, you need to leave. Find Ciri, head north to Kaer Morhen, you will both be protected."

Jaskier shook his head, "You'll come back. We'll get to Ciri together."

He sounded so sure, voice firm and filled with conviction. He knew that drowners were relatively easy to deal with, but when winter was approaching, even the most docile of creatures became aggressive in their need for food. Since drowners also tended to travel and hunt in bigger groups this time of year, it made them all the more difficult to kill. 

Geralt left his bard to watch over Pepper. The horse wasn't trained like Roach was. His mare was used to being near monsters, knew when to distance herself and to find her owner when he whistled for her. Geralt could tell by the nervous way that Pepper fidgeted, completely ignorant of Jaskier's soothing whispers that there was a chance the steed might run off. That was another reason that Jaskier needed to go further upstream. The more distance that they gained from the drowners, the better it would be for Pepper.

Geralt pushed through the thicket of trees when he heard Jaskier coax Pepper into a light trot. Once he could no longer make out the sounds of the horse’s hooves clacking against the hard ground, he unsheathed his silver sword and stalked forward. 

He was outnumbered, so he had to rely on the element of surprise to take down as many creatures as he could before they attacked him. He crept to the edge of the treeline, watching as the drowners moved out of the river and onto its wet banks. It would be easier to kill them out of the water, he knew, but two of them didn't seem inclined to leave the waters, green-blue bodies glistening in the moonlight. They appeared much younger, too. The other three were gathered around the carcasses of long-dead corpses, puddles of slime gathering around the group as they devoured the decaying remains. Geralt made the decision to deal with the three on the bank first and lured out the remaining two that way. He took in a deep breath, adjusting his grip on his sword, before charging forward.

The vodnik closest to him screeched as his blade came crashing down on its shoulder. The silver sliced cleanly through its shoulder, cutting off its arm. Geralt shifted his feet back, swinging his sword to the side, slashing at the vodniks stomach. Its guts spilled out, and it fell to the ground with an ear-splitting scream. The other vodniks had abandoned their meal, launching themselves at him as their brethren fell.

Geralt pivoted back, barely avoiding the clawed hands aiming for his neck. He sliced his sword upwards in the air, slicing the front of the second vodnik wide open. It yelped pathetically. He pulled his sword out, just in time for the third drowner to claw at his chest. He staggered back, absorbing the hit as best as he could. It screamed, retreating and calling out to the two in the river. Geralt's eyes flickered over to the river, where the younger drowners were rushing out of the water. Geralt had managed to draw the creatures closer to the trees along the bank, hoping to use the trunks and shrubbery as a shield. 

He sliced the third drowner's head cleanly from its body, silencing it mid-screech. Unfortunately, its pack mate lashed out as the drowner collapsed and its claws pierced through the gap between his chest plate and shoulder covers, gouging the skin where his chest and shoulder met. His arm burned in agony as he swung his sword down on the fourth creature’s shoulder, but he was slow and it jumped back. The fifth circled around Geralt, watching for an opening while the fourth vodnik readied for a second attack. Geralt grimaced, reaching for the vial of Dragon Sap he’d kept tucked into his armour. He flicked off the stopper, raising the vial to his lips. 

At that moment, the fifth one leapt at him from his right. He gritted his teeth, swallowing the potion just as its teeth clamped on to the metal of his armour. The fourth barreled towards him as well, tearing the skin of his thigh just as the potion kicked in. The searing pain in his shoulder and leg numbed as his eyes darkened until they were the colour of liquified coal. He could feel the added strength from the potion and he shoved the vodnik tearing at his armour to the ground. It shrieked in fear as Geralt’s sword came crashing down on its head, slaying the beast. The remaining creature scratched at his chest plate, but Geralt threw himself back, landing hard on the ground on top of the drowner. He rolled off, leaping to his feet as the beast rose again, and swung his blade through the air. The final drowner fell to its knees, head rolling a few feet away. 

Geralt gasped, steadying himself as he shook off whatever bloodied remains he could from his sword before sheathing it to his back. He would have liked to collect some brain tissue or cadaverine but the sun would rise in a few hours and he had to find Jaskier.

He limped through the forest back to the trail he’d left, intent on following in Jaskier’s faint tracks when the man in question appeared by his side. Geralt blinked, staring into Jaskier’s concerned gaze. In the distance, Pepper whinnied nervously, but Jaskier could barely tell which direction the sounds were coming from. 

“Before you start, I know what you said — I just chose not to listen, and it was a good thing I came back, too, as you, my dear Witcher, are in no shape to be walking,” his bard babbled, leading him further down the trail and then veering into the trees. One of Jaskier’s arms was wound across Geralt’s waist as the Witcher leaned heavily against his shoulder. His free hand stayed pressed against the Witcher’s chest as extra support. Geralt huffed, meaning to protest, but as the potions wore off, even breathing became a difficult task.

“Gods, how much blood have you lost?” he heaved just as they broke through the trees and into a clearing. Pepper was secured to the side and there was a decent-sized fire going in the middle. Jaskier had laid out some of Geralt's medical supplies next to a fallen log near the fire. Together, they moved to the trunk and Jaskier helped Geralt into a sitting position. The scene was quite reminiscent of their earlier escape from Beldin. An escape only possible thanks to Jaskier's clever tricks.

"Here, you don't have another vial of Swallow," Jaskier frowned, frustrated, "but you do have Kiss. That should stop the bleeding. Even Witcher's can bleed out."

Jaskier rummaged through the contents of his potions bag and retrieved a small, bulbous vial. The swirling purple and blue liquid lapped against the glass as Jaskier unstoppered the potion. He tipped the contents into Geralt's mouth before returning the now capped vial to the bag. Geralt swallowed the foul liquid, waiting for the effects to kick in.

"Okay, now that I know you won't bleed out in my arms," Jaskier huffed, a little calmer, "let me see the wounds."

Without wearing for confirmation, his bard unbuckled the straps of his sheet plate and slid off his armour. Geralt hissed when taking off the shoulder covers required him to move his arm. 

"Sorry, sorry, I know — " 

Jaskier finally removed all the pieces of his protective gear before lifting his tunic. He first slid out the uninjured arm, then pulled the shirt over his head, until the wound was uncovered. Grimacing, he slid the tunic completely off his injured arm, before tossing it to the side. The potion Geralt had ingested had halted the bleeding completely, but the claw marks were deep enough that they'd need stitches. It wasn't possible to let them heal up on their own.

"The cuts on your leg have almost closed up," Jaskier murmured, attention focused on wiping down his shoulder wounds with a warm, wet cloth, "so they can wait. Thank Melitele for Witcher healing."

Geralt huffed out a laugh, tilting his head back against the tree as Jaskier busied himself stitching each scratch closed. They'd leave scars, no doubt.

"One of the precious few positives of being a Witcher," he replied, watching the moon hide behind clouds and leaves shuffling in the wind, "not much else to be thankful for."

Jaskier hummed, tying up the last of the thread before severing it with a small blade. He picked up the wet cloth again, now stained a pinky red and ran it gently over the closed cuts. 

"You might want to change," Jaskier mumbled, wrapping strips of clean cotton over the injury and tying it off. "Ripped trousers aren't the most practical attire…"

Geralt watched through lidded eyes as Jaskier wiped down the cuts on his exposed thigh as well. Jaskier, as if sensing the Witcher's gaze, looked up.

Geralt was hit suddenly with how close they were. There were a mere few inches between their faces. Jaskier's free hand, which had been resting on Geralt's thigh for balance tightened slightly. His pupils dilated, the ring of blue surrounding them thinning. Geralt inhaled Jaskier's heady scent, letting it infiltrate his senses. His heart sped up, almost matching a regular human's, at their proximity. 

Jaskier's heart was beating faster, too, and his scent spiked. Tangy notes of bergamot invaded his naturally sweet lavender fragrance, melding together wonderfully. Jaskier's breath hitched as Geralt closed his eyes, leaning closer still until his nose nudged the soft skin below Jaskier's ear. 

"Geralt…" his voice breathless, and so soft. 

"Thank you," Geralt rumbled, voice deep, "for Dorndal, for treating my wounds, then and now…"

"Yeah, yes," Jaskier replied quietly, barely breathing. The air around them was completely still as if the very  _forest_ was waiting for something. "Of course, Geralt."

The Witcher leaned back, resting his forehead against the bard's furrowed brow. Electric blue met molten gold when he opened his eyes. Jaskier’s eyes flickered down to Geralt’s lips and then back up, tongue darting out to wet his own. Geralt couldn’t help but be drawn to his glistening mouth. It was near impossible to resist the temptation to lean in closer and sink his teeth into the pillowy flesh. Geralt's hand came up, calloused palm gently caressing a pale cheek that flushed at the contact. 

"Thank you for deciding to help me find Ciri… thank you for forgiving me even if I do not deserve it, for choosing to give me another chance. Thank you for staying with me."

"Well," Jaskier's lips curled into a secretive smile, "I am your very best friend in the whole wide world — and don't try to deny it!"

"Wasn't going to," Geralt replied, matching his bard's smile with a soft one of his own. Jaskier’s eyes widened before softening, clear affection shining through. His smile widened further, opening his mouth only to be deterred when Geralt tensed. His eyes unfocused as he strained his ears, but there was nothing. Still… there — he snapped his head towards the road they’d come from, letting his senses hone concentrate.

The easterly blowing winds, blowing much stronger than before as warning of an approaching storm, carried the faint but distinct smell of sweat and ash as it wafted through the air, a sure sign of enemies approaching. Geralt swore, moment shattering as he rose to his feet, pulling his bard up with him. He didn’t know how much time they had, but he considered it a small blessing that he couldn’t hear the telltale sounds of hooves thundering across the ground yet.

“Geralt?”

Jaskier’s voice was uncertain — and disappointed? — as he clutched to the Witcher’s arm, steadying him. 

“They’re not far, the soldiers,” he grunted, wincing as he strode over to their horse and untied his reins. Jaskier collected their supplies along with Geralt's discarded gear and followed after him.

“How much time do you think we have?” he asked, hurrying to fit everything in the saddlebags. He handed the Witcher his tunic, torn and bloody, but Geralt couldn’t be bothered at the moment. He shoved it over his head, ignoring the pain that flared at the rushed movement.

“Not enough. We’re leaving, now.” 

“Right, yeah, okay, just — ” he was still a little flustered, but he pulled himself together, clambering up on Pepper as Geralt turned to survey their small campsite. They’d be leaving behind traces for the Nilfgaardians to find, but he could possibly delay them. He spread his fingers, forefinger and ring finger raised slightly higher as he curled the tips. Aiming at the ground near the edge of the clearing, he summoned as much energy as he could and cast Yrden. Lilac light flared up from the ground, tracing a circle around the campsite before fading out. He cast the Sign again, this time directing it towards the path that led out of the site just to be safe. Turning, he climbed up behind Jaskier and snapped Pepper’s reins, urging the stallion to gallop away from the scene.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooh, okay, so! i kind of really liked this chapter. there's more of geralt talking! about! his! feelings! which is always a fun time to write. and i really delved into my love for those is-something-about-to-happen-between-these-idiots moments to write that last bit. 
> 
> hah, i also spent quite a bit of time on the witcher wiki pages while researching monster lore. that was a not-so-fun time. would you believe i spent like half an hour just deciding which monster i wanted geralt to battle? all because someone once posted that in like, every fic ever, all geralt does is fight kikimores. it was hilarious until i started overthinking every interaction with monsters in this entire fic lol.
> 
> it was fun learning about the different potions switches use, though.
> 
> let me know what y'all thought!
> 
> [tumblr](http://an-intronerd.tumblr.com/) :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> still on the run from nilfgaard, our duo finds a little time to themselves, and well, things are said and feelings are finally revealed!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i bet y'all have been waiting for this chapter. this is it. 
> 
> the one with the confession. and the subsequent smut lol are you excited?

Geralt couldn’t bring himself to relax, even as they gained more distance from their pursuers. The sun was just beginning to rise, and they’d lost precious hours having to deal with the group of drowners. This, Geralt realized, also meant that the Nilfgaaridians were moving at a much faster pace than he’d anticipated. They must have gotten to the alderman in Hagge, the stablehand in Ban Gleán. Geralt pushed Pepper well past the horse’s limit, but thankfully, the steed didn’t slow. 

They were close to Ciri, he knew. She’d only been a couple of days ahead of them, and she’d been safe. With the pace they’d kept, she would have been well past Shaerrawedd by now. They decided to forgo making a stop in the small town, choosing to ride past. He’d let Pepper slow to canter once they were a mile or two from their campsite, but they hadn’t had a chance to rest. When the sun was fairly high in the sky, albeit hidden behind slowly darkening clouds, he let up, allowing Pepper to slow to a stop alongside the dirt road. He swung off, leading the horse and remaining rider to a decently grassy spot just off the road. Jaskier clambered off once Geralt had secured Pepper to a nearby tree, letting the horse graze and regain some energy. 

Jaskier turned immediately to the tired horse.

“Oh, you strong boy, you were so good,” he cooed, rubbing Pepper’s ears. He fished out a bag of oats and held some out to the steed. “Here, good boy, you deserve a treat. When we get a chance to stop in a town, you’re going to get the best rub-down of your life, yes you are — just as soon as we find our lost Lion cub.”

Geralt huffed amusedly as he dug out some stale bread from one of the sacks. He handed a piece over to his bard, chewing on his own. He’d give Pepper an hour or so to recuperate before moving on. 

“Geralt, how far do you think Ciri is from us?” the trouvère questioned as he bit into his meal.

“Not far,” Geralt replied, “We’re about a third of the way to the Gwenllech crossing. Ciri should be a day’s ride ahead of us, approaching it soon.”

“That’s good, right?” Jaskier’s brows drew together, “The guards will still be in Shaerrawedd by the time we catch up to the princess, right?”

“Maybe. They’re moving faster than I thought. They must not be resting long, they were travelling even before the sun was up.”

“You said you smelled them, but you didn’t hear them?” the bard's eyebrows furrowed even further. He leaned against Geralt’s good arm as they sat cross-legged on the ground. 

“Hm,” Geralt assented, finishing off his piece of bread, “their scent was faint, they were still a good distance behind us, but…”

“Mm, can’t risk it,” Jaskier sighed, head laying gently on the Witcher’s shoulder.

“Cold?” he questioned.

“A bit, nothing unmanageable,” Jaskier yawned, burrowing further into Geralt’s side. He felt Jaskier hesitate, muscles tensing the slightest bit before he loosened up again.

“You keep me warm, Witcher.”

His voice was quiet but steady, the words hovering between them. Geralt sighed, slowly letting his arm curl around the man’s waist in lieu of a response. Jaskier remained quiet for a moment, pushing his head under Geralt’s chin.

“Geralt, tell me,” he said finally, waiting for an answering hum before continuing, “and I mean, don’t get me wrong, I am perfectly content with everything that’s happened, well, it would be better if we had Ciri, but I mean aside from _that_ — ”

“ _Jaskier_.”

“ _Right_ , right, sorry,” he paused, collecting his thoughts, “what I’m trying to say is, Geralt, what are we doing? You’ve been wonderful, I mean — not that you weren’t before, just — sometimes I think there’s… something _more_ , something you’ve not said. And you look and at times and I think — well, I don’t _know_ and maybe I’m reading into things too much, or…”

Jaskier trailed off as Geralt froze, heart stuttering to a stop as he barely prevented himself from flinching away from the bard. His stomach churned, and he felt… caught, exposed. He forced himself to loosen. He had thought he’d been more discreet in his newly discovered… affections. He’d attempted to subdue his feelings as best as he could, but he couldn’t help letting his hands linger on Jaskier’s frame or pulling him tighter into his arms under the guise of keeping warm at night. His voice seemed to have abandoned him and he didn’t know what he’d say if he could speak anyway. Jaskier’s scent dampened, lavender fading and leaving only hints of cedarwood. His bard began to shift away, lifting his head.

Geralt could let Jaskier believe there was nothing, that Geralt was just glad to have his lifelong friend and companion back, but it felt wrong to lie. Even if it was a lie of omission. And, he realized, he’d promised to be a better friend to Jaskier, to treat him as an equal. He owed it to Jaskier to be truthful and prayed to the Gods that it wouldn't cost him their friendship. 

“You’re not… reading into anything too much,” the words spilled from his mouth, awkward and stilted. Jaskier paused, turning to face the Witcher but Geralt avoided his gaze. “I… care deeply for you. Losing you made me realize just how much — and in what way.”

He spoke quietly, pushing the words out of him, even against the way his chest tightened in apprehension. He was hyperaware of Jaskier’s every breath, every movement as the man sat frozen in shock. Geralt’s arm was still clasped loosely around his middle. 

“Geralt, I…” Jaskier’s voice was hushed and filled with surprise. He seemed speechless. Geralt chanced a look and watched as Jaskier’s mouth gaped open.

“It doesn’t change anything,” Geralt avowed, not wanting to hear the bard’s rejection. His back stiffened as he stared straight ahead. Knowing Jaskier, he’d try to be kind, but it wouldn’t ache any less, facing the truth that Jaskier didn’t love him. That wouldn’t change. This way, at least he didn't have to hear it confirmed. Jaskier’s face fell as he curled in on himself, shoulders hunching. Geralt shut his eyes, taking a deep breath.

“I didn’t intend for this, forgive me,” he continued, resolutely not watching Jaskier. The bard seemed dismayed and it ate at Geralt that he caused his friend more pain. “It is more than enough that you’ve chosen to travel by my side once more, to help me find Ciri, I don’t need  _more_ nor should you feel obligated in any way — ”

“Wait, Geralt — ” Jaskier interrupted, “I — do you think I don't feel the same, no, so much more about you?” 

Jaskier huffed out a laugh, pushing his hair from his face. He crawled closer until he was directly in front of the Witcher. Geralt blinked. Jaskier was so close, they were practically breathing the same air.

"Geralt — my dear Witcher," he breathed, hands hovering for a moment like he couldn't decide where he wanted to touch Geralt. They settled on his shoulders and one hand slid up to rest against the side of Geralt's neck, cupping his jaw. Subconsciously, Geralt leaned into the touch, nuzzling against Jaskier's smooth palm. 

"Tell me that you — " he cut himself off, jaw clenching and eyes a little wet, "tell me, again, how you feel about me. Please."

That was what broke Geralt. The raw agony is Jaskier's voice broke something in him or freed it. maybe, something that had been trapped shut for a very long time. He gazed into his bard's eyes, the loveliest shade of blue and so deep, he felt as if he was drowning. Jaskier looked at him with so much love, plain and right there for all the world to see. Geralt startled at the realization that his bard had always looked at him like that and that for all the times Jaskier fell in love, his lovers had never received his affection quite so openly. 

"I'm in love with you, Jask," he breathed. He was taken aback at how easily the confession slipped from his lips. Jaskier sucked in a sharp breath, eyes impossibly wide. His lips split open in a grin, radiating delight. He leaned forward, touching their foreheads together. 

"My dear Witcher," his voice could only be described as fond, "how did you ever think I didn't feel the same? Every song I sing, every lyric I compose is about  _you_ , Geralt. My heart had been yours, to hold, to cherish, to break, for as long as I have known you, my gorgeous Wolf."

Geralt hummed, basking in the easy affection. He ached to close the distance between their lips, finally get a taste of Jaskier, wondered if he tasted as good as he smelled, sweet and tangy and delicious. Gods, he wanted to _devour_ Jaskier. He smirked, gripping the bard's hips, pulling him so that their chests pressed together, Jaskier's rights bracketing his own.

Jaskier let out a surprised noise at the sudden movement. He wound his arms around Geralt's broad shoulders, one hand burying itself into his white locks. He gasped as Geralt squeezed his waist, and Geralt took the opportunity to brush his lips against the bard's plush mouth. Teasingly, he leaned back, and Jaskier followed after him with a soft groan. Geralt snorted at the glare directed at him, and then Jaskier’s mouth crashed on his and Geralt could think of nothing else.

The man pushed forward, hand tightening in his hair as he nipped at Geralt's lips. He let out a moan when Geralt opened his mouth, tongue immediately delving into the wet warmth. Geralt groaned, tilting his head to allow better access. Their hips brushed and Geralt could feel Jaskier's hard length sliding against the muscled flesh of his thigh. Geralt's own cock reacted to the contact, straining against his breeches. He pushed his hips forward, slotting them more firmly against Jaskier's and aligning their pricks. The added pressure was at once too much and not enough. They groaned in unison as Jaskier thrust forward, rutting against the Witcher.

"Fuck," he swore, detaching his mouth from Geralt's. His skin was flushed, the colour high on his cheekbones and running all the way down his neck, the rest hidden under his chemise. Geralt mouthed at his jaw, nipping and licking down until he reached the pulsing flesh over Jaskier's vein. He bit none too gently on the soft skin, determined to leave his mark. Jaskier groaned, voice delightfully hoarse. He ground down harder against Geralt's crotch, gasping when Geralt nipped harder in response. 

"Gods, Geralt — _fuck_ — you're so good," he managed, stuttering when Geralt slid a hand up his chest and ground a palm against his nipple, feeling it harden under the thin silk, " _why_ have we not been doing this all along?"

Geralt growled. If his bard was still coherent, then he wasn't doing a well enough job. His cock was unbearably hard, straining uncomfortably against his trousers. The tip leaked freely at the delicious pressure. He was aching as his stomach coiled in anticipation, but he'd prefer not to come in his breeches. He hadn't done that since his training days at Kaer Morhen. He gripped harder at Jaskier's waist, stilling his movements. Jaskier moaned in despair, so close to the edge. 

Mouthing his way up Jaskier's throat, lips brushing against the faint stubble there, Geralt reached down to flick open the buttons on Jaskier's trousers. Jaskier lifted his hips, letting the Witcher slide the offending material over his hips and down to his thighs, dragging his breeches along with them. Looking down, he watched as the tip of Jaskier’s cock peeked out over the band of his underwear, glistening with precum. Jaskier cursed, pitching his hips forward as Geralt lowered his breeches until it was fully out. 

Jaskier was long, straining forward and dripping wet. Geralt was hit with the sudden temptation to get his mouth around it, but he knew they were both too keyed up right now for it. Another time, then. Geralt wrapped calloused fingers around the length, rubbing his thumb along the vein bulging on the underside. Jaskier mewled, head thumping forward into Geralt's shoulder. He pressed open-mouthed kisses to Geralt's neck, nipping at the sensitive skin of the scars littering his flesh as Geralt stroked up, squeezing tighter around the head. He swiped his thumb across the top, dipping slightly into the slit and collecting the moisture before sliding down again. Jaskier whimpered at the slow pace, thirsting into Geralt's fist as he chased his release and whining when Geralt loosened his grip in retaliation. 

“Gods, Geralt, _Geralt_ ,” he whined, pulling at his white strands. Geralt hissed, shivers racing up and down his spine at the faint sting. Jaskier pulled again, hard enough to tilt his head farther back. His fingers curled tighter, causing Geralt’s slow pace to stutter to a stop on his cock. Geralt could feel Jaskier’s lips stretch into a pleased smile against his skin. 

“Oh, it seems you like that,” he noted smugly, breaths coming out shaky as he ground down harder against his hips. That spurred Geralt back into action as he clasped tighter around Jaskier. His lover moaned at the sudden sensation, hips bucking involuntarily. Whimpers fell out of his mouth as Geralt increased his pace, bringing Jaskier closer and closer to completion.

Jaskier dropped a hand down to Geralt's own trousers, scrambling to undo the ties and pulling them open. He shoved a hand into his breeches, moaning when he finally circled his fingers around Geralt's leaking cock. Geralt's movements faltered, hands pausing in their ministrations as Jaskier pulled his shaft out of his pants. Shifting forward, he aligned the shafts until they were pressed against each other. Jaskier raised his head, back arching. He let out a whine as Geralt thrust forward. 

"Fuck, Geralt, _love_ — "Jaskier choked, eyes clenched shut and mouth gasping open. He looked downright delectable, hair a wild mess. Geralt had caused that, he was the reason Jaskier looked so thoroughly debauched. His heart raced at the thought. Jaskier was _his_.

Geralt covered Jaskier's lips with his own once again, licking into his mouth as he wrapped his hand around both of them, tugging up and squeezing the bulbous heads together. Jaskier leaked copious amounts of precum, and it slid down the length of their cocks, coating them thoroughly and making the slide that much wetter. Geralt moaned into the kiss as Jaskier bit his bottom lip, pulling at it before letting go and soothing the sting with a swipe of his tongue. 

He gasped as Geralt swiped his thumb over the leaking tip of Jaskier's prick once again. 

"Yes, Gods, _faster_ ," he panted, mouth open against Geralt's, "fuck, so good — I'm close — "

Geralt's hand stoked faster, movements becoming erratic as he felt his balls tighten. The pit in his gut coiled tighter and tighter as he felt himself get close, but he willed himself to hold out until Jaskier had come. He thrust forward in time with his strokes, mouthing at Jaskier's jaw. Leaning up, he pressed his lips against the shell of Jaskier's ear, he growled.

" _Come for me_ , pretty bird." 

As if he had been waiting for permission, Jaskier cried, muscles taut and head thrown back as he toppled over the edge. Thick, pearly ropes of come shot out, staining the front of his doublet and dripping over Geralt's hand. The Witcher smeared the substance over their lengths, leaning back to catch the fucked out expression on his bard's face. Hooded eyes stared back as him and Jaskier whined at the overstimulation and that was what did it for Geralt. He kept his eyes locked on his bard's face as he came, splattering his release all over his exposed thighs and onto Jaskier's skin as well. 

Geralt continued to stroke, watching as Jaskier cock gave a feeble twitch even as the man winced, toeing the line between pleasure and pain. The Witcher finally let up, releasing their spent cocks. He swiped at the come coating Jaskier's softened shaft. Bringing his stained fingers up to his mouth, he stared at Jaskier as his tongue darted out to lap up the substance.

Jaskier growled, eyes rolling back into his head as he launched forward to shove his tongue into the Witcher's mouth. He licked along the wet walls, tongue tangling with Geralt's and moaning obscenely as he tasted himself in Geralt's mouth. Pulling back, he chuckled, trying to regain his breath. 

"If I hadn't _just_ come, Witcher," he managed, voice rough as he rested his forehead against Geralt's, "I would absolutely be hard from the sight of what you just did."

A contented smile played at the corner of his lips as Geralt pitched forward to take his lips in another bruising kiss. Eventually slowing, they let their tongue move languidly, gentle in their dance and nothing at all like the furious way they'd battled earlier. Geralt ran his hands up and down Jaskier's side, squeezing occasionally as Jaskier once again tangled his hands in the Witcher's hair. Soon, though, the discomfort of come cooling on their skin as the winds grew stronger won out over the desire to let Jaskier thoroughly claim his mouth. Geralt pulled away, gently brushing stray strands out of the bard's eyes. Jaskier hummed, sated.

"Wait here," he grunted, rising up and walking over to Pepper. He retrieved a rag and a waterskin, wetting the cloth. Replacing the flask, he knelt next to Jaskier, carefully wiping down his pale skin. Cleaning off his thighs, he moved to his cock. Jaskier winced at the tender touch but refrained from saying anything until he was free of any residue. Jaskier kissed his cheekbone in thanks, sighing softly as Geralt tucked him back in and redid his buttons. Geralt quickly wiped himself down as well, brushing away Jaskier's hands when he attempted to take over. 

"Next time," Jaskier whispered, letting his teeth graze against the soft skin of his earlobe, "you'll let me clean you up with my mouth."

Geralt groaned at the image as his cock twitched in interest. He hurriedly rose, pulling up his trousers before extending a hand to his bard. Jaskier accepted with a knowing smirk, eyes glinting with mischief. 

"We should head out," he stated, taking a moment to listen closely to their surroundings. There were sounds of approaching soldiers or any scents aside from those of the forest, now mixed with the distinctive musk of sex. He pulled Jaskier over to their horse, untying the reins as his bard took a long drink of water. Within a few minutes, Geralt had cast Yrden as a precaution and they climbed up on Pepper, ready to ride onwards. 

Jaskier rested back against Geralt's chest, sighing happily as Pepper trotted down the well-worn path. 

"Darling, tell me when we can do that again," he giggled, turning to nip at Geralt's jaw. 

"Hm."

"As talkative as ever, I see," his bard huffed playfully, “I’d hoped you’d be more inclined to chat after a good orgasm.”

Geralt said nothing, choosing instead to tighten his arm around Jaskier, pulling him flush to his front. Jaskier practically purred in contentment, settling easily as he laid a smattering of kisses along the column of Geralt’s throat. Geralt felt a lightness in him as his bard continued to shower him with open affection. It had been some time since he’d felt truly happy and if he let the corners of his mouth lift upwards, no one was around to notice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okay, so, confession! i've literally never in my life written smut before. like, ever. 
> 
> this was a terrifying and exhilarating experience all at once. i wrote this chapter at like 5 in the morning, huddled on the couch as the sun was coming up after not having slept the entire night. and the words just kept coming out, it was kind of crazy.
> 
> it was a lot of fun to write, I'll admit, though i can't speak to the quality of the aforementioned smut since i have literally not been able to go back and reread any of it. i get all flustered and jittery! i only hope there were minimal/no errors lol because god knows i won't be able to re-edit that section anytime soon!
> 
> [tumblr](http://an-intronerd.tumblr.com/) :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they find ciri!

Geralt and Jaskier spent the next three days on the road, stopping on when Pepper needed rest or to eat and rest. They couldn’t risk sleeping through the night for the fear that their enemies may catch up to them. Instead, they rested for a few hours at a time before moving again. They hadn't touched each other since that first time. They couldn't do much more aside from the usual touches Jaskier bestowed upon him, now with the addition of quick pecks occasionally not-so-chaste kisses. 

Typically, Geralt stayed on the lookout, letting Jaskier nap but occasionally, the troubadour would convince Geralt to sleep while he watched out for approaching Nilfgaardians, stating that he would be no help to Ciri if he was dead on his feet. Jaskier would lay Geralt’s head in his lap, humming snippets of songs as he trailed his nimble fingers through Geralt’s hair. Sometimes, he’d tell little stories of his time spent away from the Witcher, regaling him with tales of power-hungry lordlings sabotaging each other in a ploy to gain more land or fondly recalling the pretty locksmith’s daughter that taught him to pick any kind of lock while he was staying in Cidaris.

“That’s where I was coming from,” he’d said on the second day once he’d persuaded Geralt to rest his eyes for a bit. “I was headed to Vengerberg, actually. I was requested to play at some court, had planned to spend the winter there.”

“Hm, instead you got caught up in my mess.”

“My dear Witcher,” he smiled, dropping a kiss on Geralt’s forehead, smoothing out the wrinkled that had formed there, “I’m ever so grateful I did. It led us here, didn’t it?”

Another night, he’d quietly sang Her Sweet Kiss, fingers strumming on the strings of his lute. They’d said nothing for a while afterwards, finally letting go of whatever doubts or grievances that remained in their minds. 

“I don’t hate Yennefer,” Jaskier admitted, “I mean, yeas, part of my resentment for her stemmed from the fact that she’d captured your heart so easily, but mostly, it was that when you two met, she was so… poisonous.”

Geralt couldn’t defend her, not when he remembered how viciously she’d craved for a child, and the destructive lengths she’d been willing to go to to get what she wanted. He cared for Yenn, knew that he always would, but her words on the mountain, harsh as they had been, were true. She’d never let herself love him fully, forever doubting what she felt. Always wondering if her feelings were born of truth or a false Destiny cursed upon her through a Djinn’s magic. He’d come to realize since then just how right she was. 

He thought back to all the times that Destiny had caused their paths to cross, how many times they’d ended up in bed together, compelled by some unknown desire to be close. Looking back, there had been no real reason. Thinking of Yennefer didn’t call forth a flood of memories that they shared. He knew so little about her life both as a human or as a mage. She was more secretive than Geralt himself. He felt that if they’d met in less Djinn-related circumstances, they might have fucked, but he wouldn’t have fallen into a relationship with her. They were too similar in some ways, too different in others, and it had doomed them from the start.

Like adding liquor to fire, burning twice as bright but petering out just as quickly. Momentary. 

“Do you still… I mean — would you ever want to go back to her?”

“No.”

“Never?”

“I won’t leave you again, Jaskier.”

With those final words, Geralt drifted into a meditative state. Unbeknownst to him, Jaskier smiled, the last missing piece of his heart falling back into place.

It was on that third day, Geralt sighing as Jaskier complained for the fifth time about an aching tailbone and that as much as he adored Pepper, he was content to never ride a horse again, that Geralt caught the barely-there trace of Ciri’s scent. Lemongrass and honeysuckle. It was too faint for him to tell if she was safe, or scared, or hurt but she was _close_. 

He steered Pepper into a canter, veering off the dirt path and into the forest.

"Geralt?" Jaskier whispered as the Witcher's gaze darted around them, "she's close? We've found her?"

"Hm."

"Maybe we should split up? Cover more ground that way?"

Geralt hesitated. It would have been a good idea any other time, but his gut churned at the thought of separating from Jaskier, even for a bit. It was a risk he wasn’t willing to take, not when he was on the verge of finding his cub. 

“No,” he refused, “we stay together.”

“Hm, you should have a call for your Lion cub,” Jaskier chuckled, trying for levity in an attempt to soothe the distraught Witcher, “y’know, the same way you do with Roach.”

Geralt blinked, a little taken aback. Roach. Wherever his horse was, Ciri would be there too. She wouldn’t go anywhere without Roach, not when Geralt wasn’t with her. It was an idea, just maybe it would work. He coaxed Pepper to a stop. Jaskier watched him quizzically as he hopped off the horse’s back. He surveyed the forest again for any signs of Ciri, then brought his fingers up to his lips and whistled, loud and clear. 

Nothing.

He whistled again, louder, and waited with bated breath.

“Geralt,” Jaskier startled, “I didn’t mean that literally — ”

He was cut off as the faint sounds of hooves thundering on the forest floor grew louder and louder. Geralt heard Jaskier suck in a sharp breath just as Roach burst through the foliage. Atop his treasured mare rode his lost princess. Jaskier whooped joyfully as Roach halted a few feet from Geralt. 

Ciri jumped off the mare, flinging herself into Geralt’s open arms. He crushed her to his chest, breathing a sigh of relief. Never in his life had he pondered what it would be like to be a father, a parent. He hadn't thought he’d ever want to be but Ciri had run into his arms all those months ago and settled herself in his life and his heart, demanding it of him. He’d tried to tell himself that he was just her guardian, her mentor and nothing more. He’d teach her, train her in the way Vesemir had when he was younger and still human until she was ready to fulfil whatever role Destiny has designed for her. 

Now, though, having lived through the fear of losing her to Nilfgaard, of not knowing if she was safe and healthy, he knew he’d already given everything to her. She’d become a shining beacon in his world, one that he would do anything to protect. She was his daughter, blood be damned. It didn’t matter to him whether she was thrust upon him because of Destiny or fate or whatever horseshit humans believed in. She was his to love and protect until the day he died. 

Her shoulders shook as she sobbed into his chest, her cloak falling off her head. 

“Geralt,” she cried, clinging on to him, “you found me.”

“Always,” he whispered, voice rough with feeling, “we’re linked, remember?”

Ciri blubbered out a laugh, raising her head to meet Geralt’s eyes. 

“By Destiny,” she affirmed after composing herself, “so we’ll always find each other.”

Geralt smiled, warm and genuine, dropping a kiss on her head. She huddled closer, the last of her shivers fading but not willing to let go just yet. Behind them, Geralt could hear Jaskier climb off Pepper, He could smell salt in the air, and he was sure that Ciri wasn’t the only source. 

Ciri peered past Geralt’s arm, taking in the bard. Geralt released her, keeping a hand on her shoulder as they turned. Sure enough, there stood Jaskier, wiping at his eyes. 

“Jaskier!” Ciri shouted, rushing to envelop the minstrel in a tight hug. Jaskier wrapped his arms around her, lifting her and spinning. She laughed, loud and unabashed in response. He set her down gently, wiping the tear tracks from her cheeks.

“You remember me, princess,” he exclaimed, brushing her cropped hair from her face.

“I do! You cheered me up when Grandmother refused to let me go horse riding with Grandfather. That was when I was six and you were visiting. I ran away and you found me,” she recalled fondly, “and you wrote me a _song_ and played it at the feast for my eighth birthday. Do you still know it? Can you play it?”

“I do, and of course, I'll play it, dear princess. Oh, did you know that I also played at your first three birthdays,” he smiled adoringly, twirling Ciri’s blond strands. “and a few other occasions. You were the most precious baby, your Highness.”

She giggled at the title, swatting Jaskier's arm playfully. Geralt was surprised. He hadn’t known the bard had returned to Cintra after their first visit. He’d never divulged that bit of information. Ciri would have been born in early spring, and he wondered how many times Jaskier had joined Geralt, returning from a visit to his Child Surprise. It warmed Geralt to think that even if he had shunned the responsibility of his Lion cub, Jaskier had taken it upon himself to check up on her. Many times through the years since that disastrous banquet, he’d wondered about the princess, especially when rumours of her parents’ death circulated the Continent. He had never dared to return to Cintra, though. He was immensely thankful that she’d at least had Jaskier. 

"I was worried for you, little lion," Jaskier whispered, pulling Ciri close again. "When Cintra fell, and news of your grandmother's death spread, all I could do was hope you had found Geralt."

Jaskier rubbed circles on Ciri's cloaked back, looking up at Geralt. The Witcher had let the two reunite, tending to Roach instead. He hadn't seen his mare in weeks and he'd missed her. Pepper ambled over, greeting the new horse as Geralt petted her flank. He turned to his bard and Lion cub when Jaskier called his name.

"Geralt, what do we do now?"

The sun was going down, the dying rays trickling through the canopy of leaves above. The storm that had been approaching had been blown south by the changing winds and they'd not had to deal with heavy rain and freezing winds. Still, Geralt knew the winds changed on Destiny's whims and the clouds hadn't cleared up fully in the last few days. He knew the weather could be fickle at this time of year and decided it was best they find cover for the night.

His shoulder had healed fully as had the gashed on his leg and he had a bag full of potions. Most importantly, Ciri was once again safe by his side, so he felt assured in his decision to make camp. Jaskier had complained about many things, but he hadn't protested even once to the fast pace they'd been keeping so far. He knew his bard could use a good night's rest. Ciri, too, the growing child that she was. 

"We find cover for the night and make camp," he replied. "Cub, where were you before Roach brought you here?" 

He glanced at Ciri, tightening the harnesses on both horses. She pulled herself from Jaskier's grasp, holding his hand instead. 

"I found a clearing further up, closer to the road," she explained, gesturing at the direction she came from, "I hadn't made camp yet when Roach started tugging at her reins. I barely got into the saddle when she started running. We can go there, the clearing is close enough to a small stream that we can take baths!"

Geralt smiled, proud at how much Ciri had picked up from their time together. 

"It's a little late for that today," he said, "and it's better if we can find a cave or hooded area for tonight."

"Okay, and then can we eat?" she nodded, pulling Jaskier along, "I'm starving and all Roach has left is _stale_ _bread_."

Jaskier chuckled, there two of them walking ahead of Geralt the two horses. He ruffled Ciri's hair, drawing an arm around her shoulders. 

"Darling," he grinned cheekily, "we don't have much better. You're going to have to stomach stale bread and gummy jerky bits once more, your Highness."

Ciri let out an exaggerated groan, pulling a chuckle out of Jaskier. Keeping a nose and ear out for any unexpected sounds, he watched as the duo chattered happily. Geralt knew Ciri was so clever and wise beyond her years, but she was a child still, though she never got to act like one. Even travelling with Geralt when she didn't have to constantly fear for her life, she'd always tried to act older than she was, picking up whatever tips and tricks she could from Geralt and asking to train. She demanded that he teach her how to fight, to defend herself whenever they had some time to themselves. 

Seeing her with Jaskier, seeing how she let herself act not like a princess or a fugitive on the run, but like the young child that she was. She was relaxed and animated in a way she hadn't been around Geralt, vibrating with energy even though there were bags under her eyes and her clothes sullied and reeking of salty sweat and the musky tones of wet earth. 

They traversed the forest, hoping to find well-shaded, flat ground to make camp for the night. There were no mountains in this region, so finding an outcropping or cave wasn't possible. Within a half-hour or so, though, they came across large firs that Geralt deemed good enough. The floor under them was significantly drier, he reasoned as they set up for the night. After tying the horses, feeding them some oats and letting them graze, Geralt retrieved whatever bread they had left, handing the bigger portions to Ciri. His cub munched quietly, leaned against a tree trunk while Jaskier collected twigs for a small fire and Geralt laid out their bedrolls, one for Ciri and one for him and his bard to share. 

The sun had long since sunk, and the night was dark, not even the moon out tonight. The stars were all hidden, obscured by heavy clouds. Chilly winds blew through the air, not too strong but bringing with them the kind of cold that seeped into skin and settled in bones. He unpacked spare blankets from Roach's pack, crouching to wrap one around Ciri. She smiled gratefully, leaning into him before returning to her food. In the meantime, Jaskier had built a small pit, piled high with the dried twigs and branches he could find, waiting for Geralt to light it.

Geralt walked over, squeezing Jaskier's waist in thanks before casting Igni. He crossed his pinky under his ring finger while folding his forefinger and he cast the Sign. Immediately, a fire burst up, eating at the sticks before settling into a steady rhythm, flickering gently. Ciri shuffled closer, finished with her food and shoved her hands out, the heat of the fire warming her up.

Jaskier sat next to her and did the same, twice as enthusiastically and made her giggle. Geralt passed him some leftover bread, intending to use the time to sharpen his swords now that he'd regained all his tools, but his bard pulled him down beside him. Geralt gave in, raising an amused eyebrow in question. Jaskier tore off a piece of bread and held it up to his mouth, gesturing to him to take it. Geralt shook his head, he didn't need it, but Jaskier hmphed, elbowing him.

"Mmfh mmmh ith," he garbled through a mouthful and Geralt snorted in disgust, accepting the morsel. That was how they spent the next little while, Jaskier occasionally shoving stale, tasteless bread at his face and whispering with Ciri. Once they'd finished their dinner, Geralt cast an Yrden around their encampment and they settled into their bedrolls.

Geralt had laid them so that Ciri's was against the trunks of the trees, further from the fire but better protected from any possible rainfall. His and Jaskier's was laid out next to hers, and Geralt took the side closer to the fire. It was the best position to protect them from in case anyone stumbled upon their little makeshift quarters. His swords laid out next to him and within arms reach, he pulled the blankets over himself and Jaskier, his lover tucking himself under his chin. 

He whispered stories to Ciri who drifted in and out of sleep, head barely peeking out of her cocoon. Soon enough, her breaths evened out and Jaskier reached over to tuck a few stray hairs out of her face. He sighed, turning in Geralt's arms and pressing soft kisses into the hollow of his throat. Geralt hummed, squeezing tighter around his bard's waist. Burying his nose in Jaskier's hair, he mumbled.

"So, you went to Cintra."

Jaskier hummed against his neck, hands slipping higher on his chest where they were laying, trapped between their bodies.

"Well, I would have taken you, but you never gave the impression you ever wanted to set foot in Calanthe's court again," the bard teased, tracing patterns onto Geralt's exposed chest, "And besides, someone needed to keep an eye on her. Might as well have been yours truly."

"Thank you."

"Hm, of course," a hand traced his jaw as Jaskier ripped his head back to look into Geralt's glowing yellow eyes. He leaned forward, slanting his lips over Geralt's, sighing into his mouth. This was a welcome change, a shift in their dynamic that was at once new and familiar. Geralt felt the thrill of surprise chase down his spine whenever Jaskier touched him or kissed him, but he sunk into it each time. The way a stone sinks in the ocean, easy, and like he could do nothing else.

They let their tongues meet in a languid dance. Teasingly, Jaskier nipped at his lip, pulling and then releasing only to run his tongue over it, soothing the sting. Geralt groaned, low and quiet, capturing his bard's mouth again. It was a hazy kind of kiss, slow and deep, tongues melding and gliding until it was impossible to tell where Geralt ended and Jaskier started. 

It lit a fire deep inside the Witcher, the heat radiating out until he could feel it down to his feet. Everywhere Jaskier touched him, the arch of his neck, the curve of his shoulder, it all burned with an intensity that drove him insane. They carried on for a few more moments before Geralt pulled back, reluctant. His breath came out uneven and he could feel the ghost of Jaskier’s fingers, the trails they’d left blazing hot.

"Sleep," he grunted, "you'll need it for tomorrow."

Jaskier sighed, catching his breath and settling in once again. He curled his fingers in the front of Geralt's shirt, pressing a kiss to his sternum. 

"I love you," he breathed, eyes slipping shut.

And that was new, too. Geralt had been witness to countless instances when Jaskier went and fell ridiculously, recklessly in love. Loving, to him, was as natural as breathing. He'd heard those three words fall out the bard's mouth many times, casually, earnestly, passionately. He liked to believe that no one had heard the words sound so tender, with a hint of reverent disbelief. It left the Witcher shaken, almost fragile each time. 

Greatly pulled him closer, held him tighter. He breathed in the scent of lavender and cedarwood, letting his lips linger on the crown of Jaskier's head in a silent declaration before closing his eyes.

_I love you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> honestly, i kind of adore this chapter? it was my absolute favourite to write? 
> 
> just, at this point in the story, i'd kind of become deeply invested and i just needed to have geraskier finally reunite with ciri. i also tried to keep them as in-character as i possibly could and of course, i had to work in some way for ciri and jaskier to already know each other because, well! i kind of really want to see them interact in the show to feed all my jaskier-being-ciri's-other-dad fantasies! that sounds really weird but I'm tired and don't want to word it better. y'all know what i mean! i want some cute moments with those two! also, i kind of reworked that "people linked by destiny will always find each other" line because i thought it fit well? and was cute? hehe.
> 
> and the little moments between jaskier and geralt, i adored them! i mean from a writer's perspective, they were to tie up some loose ends from the show and earlier parts of this fic, so to speak, but i also just loved writing them because i want these two idiots to be soft with each other?
> 
> as always, leave your thoughts below!
> 
> [tumblr](http://an-intronerd.tumblr.com/) :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some softer family moments while the now-trio continue their travels north.

Geralt woke to Jaskier’s breaths puffing against his throat, letting out quiet snores. He opened his eyes, peering over Jaskier’s wild hair at Ciri, only to find her looking back. She was still huddled up to her chin in blankets, her head the only thing peeking out. A small smile was playing at the corners of her mouth. Geralt raised an eyebrow, but only got a head shake in reply. She grinned wider, mouthing words at him.

_You’re happy._

She wasn’t wrong. Being without Jaskier had left him so desolate. As a Witcher, he should have been used to the feeling of being alone, belonging to no one and having no one to call his. He’d been fine before Jaskier, and he should have been fine after him, too. But he hadn’t been. He’d told Jaskier many times that he didn’t need anyone and wanted no one to need him. He’d always thought that in their time together, Jaskier was the one that needed Geralt. When the poet had left, it had hit Geralt just how false that belief was. 

He’d come to need Jaskier more than he’d ever wanted to or even realized, and when Jaskier had left him, he’d been hit with such profound loneliness that it had shaken him to the core. It was comparable to the way he’d felt when Visenna had left him at Vesemir’s doorstep. The feeling had long since faded, and now that Ciri was with them, Geralt couldn’t think of anything more that he’d want. Jaskier 

He readjusted his grip on Jaskier as the bard shifted in his sleep, smiling back at Ciri.

_I am._

She giggled softly, closing her eyes once more and drifting off to sleep. Minutes passed, silent but for the rustling of leaves and the twittering of birds that had yet to make the journey to warmer places. Geralt sighed. He unwound his arms from around Jaskier, laying the bard down again when he freed his arm. Jaskier mumbled something in his sleep, frowning at the loss of body heat before Geralt covered him in the blankets again. Behind him, Ciri turned in her sleep. 

He got up off the ground, letting his ears strain to pick out any unwanted sounds. He couldn’t smell anything, either, but that wouldn’t mean that he’d get complacent. It was best to keep moving as fast and for as long as they could. He let the other two sleep as he tended to the horses and rekindled the dying flame of their campfire. 

They were low on food of any kind and though he hated the idea of leaving Jaskier and Ciri alone and unguarded, they needed to eat. He left his swords where they were resting on the ground, fishing out a dagger from Roach’s saddlebags instead. Heading out of the clearing and deeper into the forest, he listened for the telltale scuttling of forest animals. 

Sometime later, he returned to the clearing, two hares clutched in his hands to find Jaskier and Ciri wide awake and huddling near the fire. They looked up in unison as he approached, Jaskier immediately grabbing for a dagger that he’d had balancing on his thigh. Subconsciously, he shifted in front of Ciri, shielding her, only relaxing when he saw it was Geralt approaching and not someone else. He cheered as he caught sight of the dead animal. 

Soon enough, they had skinned hare roasting over the fire on their makeshift rotisserie. Jaskier offered to refill their waterskins in a nearby stream while they waited, then darted off, leaving Ciri and Geralt alone. She sat quietly next to him, basking in the warmth of the fire and eyeing the roasting meat. Geralt watched her in silence. Her long blonde locks were gone, chopped off hastily and leaving her hair rough and uneven. 

She’d lost some weight since Dorndall, he observed. Her face didn’t hold as much fat as before and the hollows of her cheeks were more prominent. Dirt was smeared all over her clothes, the grime reaching as far up as her neck. Her face was clean, at least, though the same couldn’t be said for her hair, oily and dull as it was. She’d been keeping clean in the most basic of ways, but she clearly hadn’t had the opportunity to bathe properly. He doubted she’d get a chance until they reached the next town, past the Gwenllech river. 

His Lion cub turned to him, eyes curious. 

“When we met,” she began, “were you sad because you didn’t have Jaskier?”

“Yes. Partly.”

“Where was he? Why wasn’t he with you?”

She had tried to ask these kinds of questions early on when they’d met, too. Why was he so quiet? Did he lose people, too? But Geralt had always brushed them off or just ignored her until she stopped prying. It wasn’t her fault back then, but it had been too difficult to talk about, to admit all that he felt, to realize his own faults and how they had led him to that point. He knew now that the reason she’d never be as open with him as he’d seen her be around Jaskier was also mainly his doing. Caught up in his own pain, he had pushed her away as much as he could while still watching over her and keeping her safe. 

He sighed. He had a lot to make up for with his Lion cub, too.

“I yelled at him and made him leave. Blamed him for things that weren’t his fault and said things that hurt him deeply. It was a mistake and I regret it, even now after he has forgiven me.”

Ciri frowned at him, looking for all the world like a parent scolding a child. It was ironic in a way that made him almost chuckle, but he held back in the face of her righteous glare. 

“Did you make it up to him?” she demanded.

“I apologized.”

“That’s  _not_ the same thing,” she huffed, arms folding across her chest. She looked as regal and haughty as any royal, despite her ragged appearance. 

“You have to fix things, _properly_ ,” she emphasized, “like, maybe give him a gift. Or oh! You can do something nice for him. Grandfather always used to take Grandmother on long hunting trips when he made her angry.”

Geralt let out the laugh he’d been holding in. His cub was too precious. He turned to the nearly-done hare, giving it a final turn.

“Okay,” he agreed, “I’ll make it up to him.”

“Good,” she paused, playing with the sleeves of her cloak, “Jaskier is a good person. I like him.”

“Hm.”

“Promise you won’t make him go away?”

Geralt sighed, chest tightening at how small Ciri’s voice sounded. He forgot sometimes that she was a child and still healing from the loss of the only family she’d had. Calanthe may have had her issues, but she’d loved the princess, and Geralt was sure Eist had been the same. She probably feared she’d lose Geralt and now Jaskier, too.

“I promise, cub,” he whispered, pulling her under his arm until she was tucked into his side.

When Jaskier returned, Geralt was in the midst of cutting off pieces of meat and handing them to Ciri. She dug in ravenously as Jaskier settled himself beside Geralt. He chortled at the princess’s decidedly uncouth behaviour. Before he took the offered meat from the Witcher, he pressed a quick kiss to Geralt’s temple, hand curling on the nape of his neck.

“Thank you, love,” he smiled, before turning to eat his own meal. Geralt hummed, and that was how they spent the next hour or so. Once they’d finished off their food, washing it down with sips from the filled waterskins, they demolished their dying fire and folded up their bedrolls. 

When Ciri asked about bathing in the stream again, Geralt told her it was too cold and he'd rather she remain filthy than hypothermic. At this, she complained, and Jaskier, seeing the way Geralt's brow twitched, joined in impishly. They made quick work of readying the horses, both of which were well-rested. Ciri immediately fell in love with Pepper, and the horse seemed just as enamoured with her going by the way he nibbled at her outstretched hands. 

Geralt rode on Roach, stoic and silent as ever, but Jaskier had caught the way he tangled his fingers in his mare's silky man if his crinkled eyes and knowing grin were anything to go by. The bard and the princess rode on Pepper, Jaskier recounting their journey to finding Ciri, complete with embellished details of his heroic rescue of and subsequent nursing back to health the great Geralt of Rivia. As children were prone to do around Jaskier, she listened with rapt attention, bombarding him with questions about the drowner hunt. When he had exhausted his reserve of stories, Jaskier strummed on his lute, pausing periodically to show Ciri the correct positioning of fingers for a certain note. 

They made it to the Gwenllech crossing in the span of a few short hours and were soon cresting over a hill to the sight of a village a few miles up the river, east of the kingdom of Ard Carraigh. By midday, they had found a smaller, less frequented inn, renting a room and ordering a bath to be sent up immediately, much to the delight of the young princess. Geralt knew that, with Nilfgaard on their tails, they couldn't stay long, a night at most, so he didn't bother to ask around for work. It was better that way, too. Stay out of sight, hidden until they could get to the Witcher stronghold. 

Geralt and Jaskier occupied themselves with cups of ale in the tavern below, settling into a corner table while Ciri took a bath. Geralt let the tension slip from his shoulders as he watched Jaskier, having dug out some parchment from his lute case, quill lines and lines of lyrics furiously onto the empty pages. Every so often, he'd hum out a melody, quill twirling in his fingers, or mutter about rhymes and rhythms. They had foregone ordering a meal when asked by a serving girl, choosing instead to wait for Ciri to return.

When his cub joined them, fresh-faced and dressed in borrowed clothes from the innkeeper's daughter, the barmaid took their orders, returning shortly with steaming bowls of stew. Ciri dug in happily, and Jaskier moaned around a mouthful of savoury broth, gushing about the wonders of herbs and spices. Geralt dug into his own food, endlessly fond but refusing to encourage Jaskier's tirade. 

Once they were full, Jaskier agreed to the innkeeper's request for a few songs in exchange for a free bath for the two adults, and he made his way over to the raised platform opposite the bar, strumming out familiar jigs and weaving between tables. Geralt's eyes narrowed at the way some men leered at the bard, but Jaskier kept his distance from them so there was no way that the Witcher could justify bashing in their ugly mugs.

A few upbeat songs and even one soulful ballad for the tavern ladies later, they made their way upstairs. As promised, a steaming bath was waiting for them, so Geralt elected to get in, drawing the privacy screen across the room and stripping. He washed off the week's grime, dunking his head under the water a few times and massaging out what were surely the dried remains of various drowners. For a moment, he wished Jaskier was seated behind him, fingers gently lathering sweet-smelling soaps into his hair and picking out the mess tangled there. Those were the kind of moments Geralt had taken for granted, never realizing just how giving and caring his bard was. How there was no one else who'd do for him the things Jaskier did, and never without expecting something in return.

Eventually, he rose out of the tub, drying off and dressing to the sounds of the other two occupants of the room playing some sort of game. He emerged from behind the screen, towelling his wet hair and catching Jaskier's appreciative stare as the dark wool of his chemise stretched taut over his extended arm. Ciri exclaimed loudly, garnering his attention again as she showed him her hand of cards. Evidently, she'd won their game of Gwent. Jaskier playfully complained, accusing her of cheating before restacking the cards. He ruffled her hair as he rose from the bed, claiming he wouldn't play with cheaters, even if they happened to be powerful princesses. Ciri stuck her tongue out at him in retaliation. 

They were radiating with contentment, joy and laughter in the air, and fear gripped his heart. How long could he keep them safe? With Nilfgaard on their heels and a war approaching, how long could he keep them hidden from the world? Kaer Morhen would only ever be a temporary safe haven. Sooner or later, they’d have to leave or the armies they were running from would come knocking. Geralt considered himself skilled at fighting off the monsters of this world, but even he alone could not withstand the might of a thousand soldiers, as human as they might be. 

“Stop that,” Jaksier’s voice penetrated through the haze of his thoughts, bringing him back with sharp clarity. Ciri was watching Geralt, worry causing faint crinkles in her forehead. His bard was standing in front of him, almost nose to nose, jaw set in determination. 

“Whatever it is you’re thinking,” he stepped closer, hands coming up to grip the Witcher’s firmly, eyes bright, “whatever’s got you looking so forlorn, made that stupidly chiselled jaw tense in despair, stop it.”

Jaskier’s thumbs stroked along the crease of Geralt’s elbows absently. 

“Whatever has you so worried, let it go. We’re right here, and whatever you’re afraid of, we’ll deal with it. Together.”

Geralt blinked, visibly startled. When had Jaskier become so adept at reading Geralt’s emotions, concealed and buried as they were? When had Jaskier learned to read him so easily, gauging from the twitching of an eyebrow or the deepening of a wrinkle or the bulging of a vein exactly how he felt without the Witcher ever having to voice it? How had he managed to get to the heart of whatever fears plagued Geralt and soothing his concerns with just a few sweet words? 

His bard’s eyes roved over his face, searching for something. When he was seemingly satisfied with what he saw, he released the Witcher. Jaskier grinned, fingers smoothing out the lines in his forehead, trailing down over his temple as they tucked stray hairs behind his ear. He turned away from the Witcher, fetching a pair of clothes less dirtied by their travels. His bard winked back at Geralt as he strode to the opposite end of the room, eyes shining with apparent fondness. 

Geralt watched as Jaskier disappeared behind the privacy to the bath, lips curled into a soft smile as he turned to keep Ciri company. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> gah! something that came to me while i was writing this chapter was that like, yes, geralt and jaskier are together, now, but that's not where their story ends?
> 
> like, initially, i had planned a short one-shot type of fic but then as it kind of got bigger and there was more plot, i decided to turn it into a more slice-of-life fic? it still follows what i think is a pretty straightforward plot but in terms of the geraskier, i wanted it to be like a journey all of its own. that makes very little sense lol but i guess what i'm trying to is that i want there to be this progression that is natural and realistic. and i want there to be lots of like, figuring out how to fit together as a couple and as co-parents? yeah... hehehe soooo! enough ranting! 
> 
> hope you enjoyed the chapter!
> 
> [tumblr](http://an-intronerd.tumblr.com/) :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> nilfgaard finally catches up to our favourite trio! but there's no way that geralt is going to let them hurt either ciri or jaskier!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the climax of the story? the last big complication before the tale winds down, and of course, there's a big battle.
> 
> due to this, there is some violence, as geralt battles a group of nilfgaardian soldiers. it's a deadly sword fight, so there depictions and they're graphic to an extent, so for anyone who might not find that comfortable, be careful!

They didn’t loiter in the village. They stocked up on some dried meats and other foodstuffs for the journey, deciding to travel along the Gwenllech river and into the mountains. They were so close, he knew. These paths were some of the first he’d ever travelled in his long life, paths that he returned to time and time again. This was the way home, and it brought him comfort that he felt he shouldn’t yet acknowledge. Complacency was a dangerous thing and he couldn’t afford to become careless, not when the lives of the people he held most dear to him depended on it. 

The journey ahead was a long one, and there were very few villages this far up north. They didn’t have much coin left, but there was nothing to be done about that, so by mid-afternoon, they were on their way. Roach and Pepper, at least had gotten the much-deserved rest and rub-downs they deserved. Ciri rode with Geralt, this time, claiming she’d missed Roach but it was a thinly-veiled excuse to stay closer to her guardian. They spent the day, and part of the late evening covering the many miles remaining between them and Kaer Morhen. The bitter cold of the approaching night had Jaskier draping an extra blanket over himself, lute long since packed away as he blew onto his frozen fingers. Ciri stayed huddled against Geralt’s sturdy chest, wrapping his cloak around herself. Her blonde locks brushed against the underside of his chin each time she shifted. 

When the stars began appearing in the night sky, they stopped for the night. Apprehension coiled in Geralt’s gut. He knew these forests very well, had hunted in them, trained in them, even played in them. Yet something about the night felt… final. It was these nebulous feelings, the unease, the wariness, the paranoia that had him sharpening his swords in the dead of night, eyes and ears wide open for any sign of peril. The only sounds were of crickets singing in harmony with Jaskier’s quiet snores and the _schnik_ of a blade sliding against his dampened honestone. It might have made more sense to sharpen his silver sword, there was no shortage of beasts in these woods, but he’d felt the need to polish the steel instead. 

He watched as his companions slept, huddled under multiple layers of quilts to stay warm. Ciri had insisted the bard tell her more stories, tales of the night Geralt claimed her as the Law of Surprise and Jaskier had been all too happy to recount the events to the young princess. He hyperbolized the events as he was prone to do, sending a cheeky wink to Geralt when he described the amber-eyed hero that, despite his aversion for the dramatics of royals, elected to save the life of her father.

Ciri was wide-eyed the entire time, demanding more details of the parents she’d never gotten to know, to love. Jaskier indulged her wants to the best of his abilities, describing Pavetta in all her furious glory as she single-handedly brought down a banquet full of men hell-bent on running a sword through Duny. He recounted the moment Calanthe gave in to destiny’s wishes, marrying her parents right then and there as they shared their first kiss. He told Ciri of the many sweet moments to follow, ones Geralt hadn’t stayed for as the princess drifted to sleep. Only when her breaths had evened out, did the bard turn to his Witcher, close his own eyes, whispering soft words of love that he knew Geralt would hear before following her into slumber.

Geralt remained alert for a long time until the need to rest his eyes and replenish his reserves of energy won out. He settled his back against a tree, sheathed swords at his side as he slipped into a meditative stance. He cleared his mind as best as he could and spent hours sitting upright, eyes shut until the first rays of light broke through the clouds. He shook off the ache in his shoulders, rising when he heard them.

The sounds of a dozen, if not more horses approaching at too quick a speed to escape them in time. They were too close. He rushed to Jaskier and Ciri, shaking them awake. Jaskier’s grumbles ceased the moment their eyes met, the bard collecting his bearings as Geralt handed him his discarded doublet. 

“They’re almost here.”

Ciri, now wide awake, began trembling until Jaskier wrapped a protective arm around her, picking them both up off the ground. They scrambled to tie up their cloaks, untying Pepper and Roach from their posts. Jaskier pushed Ciri into the speckled horse’s saddle, handing her the reins before racing over to Geralt’s side. Geralt was doing up the last of his armour as Jaskier’s hand came to rest on the crook of his elbow.

“I need you both to leave, Jaskier,” he growled, buckling the final strap of his chest plate into place, “head north along the river and _don’t stop_ until you’ve reached the base of the mountains.”

Jaskier tightened his lips but did not protest.

“It’ll take three days on horseback if you keep the pace we kept before. If I do not meet you at the edge of the forest by the time the sun sets three days from now, _leave_.”

His bard’s hand tightened in its hold, as Jaskier’s eyes lit with a fierce determination. He turned Geralt towards him as the Witcher caught the scent of sweat and dirt and ash growing stronger. Jaskier clasped the nape of Geralt’s neck, drawing him closer. 

“You will come back to me, my love,” he stated, leaving no room for argument, “I will not lose you, not when I _just got you_.”

His voice nearly broke at the end, but he remained steady, eyes unwavering in an unspoken promise. Geralt couldn’t guarantee his survival, but he pulled Jaskier in close, dropping his swords in favour of winding his arms around Jaskier’s waist. He gave himself a moment, just one, to hold his bard close, for what he hoped wouldn't be the last time but could very well be. 

In the distance, the thundering of hooves and the shouts of men grew closer. A dozen and a half, at the least. The odds weren't in Geralt's favour, but looking into Jaskier's watery blue eyes, he was determined to get back to his family in one piece. He wanted more than anything to protect Ciri, to watch her grow safe and loved, to train her into the warrior Destiny demanded her to be. He wanted to share his life with Jaskier, to sleep embraced in his lover's arms, to show him how much he wanted him.

He buried his face in the crook of Jaskier's neck, inhaling his wonderfully sweet scent, tinged with fear at that moment, but so lovely underneath. Jaskier choked back a silent sob, shuddering against him. 

"I love you, Jask," Geralt whispered, hold tightening, "now _go_ , protect Ciri, stay safe."

He detached himself, turning to catch Ciri's wet gaze, fitting all the love he could into his eyes as she clung to her cloak and watched him. He pushed Jaskier towards Roach and the bard snapped into action. He nodded, wiping at his eyes.

"I love you, too. Come back to us."

Geralt retrieved his swords. Silver for monsters, steel for men. Today, he would be using both.

He stood in the centre of the clearing, listening to the sounds of Roach and Pepper galloping away, taking his bare and his Lion cub to safety. He closed his eyes, inhaling deeply as he let his senses hone in on the incoming army of soldiers. Jaskier and Ciri rode further away as their pursuers approached, closer and closer to what Geralt would make certain would be their last battle. They would not get past him, even if it cost him his life.

He readied himself for an attack, setting the perimeter of the grassy area ablaze with lavender light as he cast Yrden after Yrden, hoping it would slow down a few of the men. Just as he unsheathed both his swords, the first of many horses broke through the line of trees. There were a dozen and a half guards here, easily. He didn’t think there were any more following them, but he knew that was a possibility, The men dismounted their horses, drawing their swords. The one leading the charge lifted off his helmet, and Geralt came face to face with Lord Beldin. 

“ _Wonderful_ to see you alive, Geralt of Rivia,” he said cheerfully, as he gripped his own sword. His men swarmed around him as Geralt growled, advancing a few steps.

“I hope you’ve said goodbye to your princess and your bard, Witcher, because you won’t be seeing them again.”

“You should have killed me when you had the chance, Beldin, because make no mistake. You have come this far only to die at the hands of a Witcher. You will never get to Cirilla.”

Beldin chuckled, low and ugly. A sneer crossed his face as he prepared to attack. His band of soldiers readied themselves as well.

“I will admit, that was an error on my part, mutant. Not to worry, I always learn from my failures.”

With those words, he shouted and the guards charged forward at Geralt. Geralt waited. Several soldiers ran right into the traps he’d set for them. The symbols came to life, shining brightly through the mossy green of the grass below their boots and entrapping their prey. The men screamed in agony and deadly bolts of lilac lightning shot from the ground, aiming straight for the heart. These Signs were meant to kill monsters with much more strength and endurance. Mortals didn’t stand a chance. They crippled to the ground, dropping like stones, their bodies burnt to a crisp and unrecognizable. 

Beldin roared, and the rest barreled forwards, racing past the corpses of their comrades. Geralt swung into action. As the first fighter approached the Witcher, his sword aimed for his head, Geralt leaned back, hand gripping his handle tight as he swung upwards in an arch. Their blades clashed, but Geralt's strength won out. Disarming the man, he pulled back, cleanly slicing the man’s stomach open. He dropped to his knees, dead before he hit the ground. The next two attacked in succession, and Geralt parried the attack of the first while plunging his silver sword into the gut of another. Pulling it out, he slashed it across the meaty thigh of his remaining attacker as he cried out in pain. His hand dropped the sword as he wailed, and Geralt used the moment to plunge his second blade into the man’s throat, feeling it go all the way through, He yanked up, hearing the delicate ones in his neck and upper spine tear apart. 

He stood as the remaining soldiers gaped fearfully, momentarily frozen until Beldin hollered, spurring them into action. He’d killed nine men, reducing their group by half. That left another nine, four of which came charging at him from each direction. He parried the blow of the first, shoving him away as he twisted his waist and swung at the second. He aimed low, to the knees, slicing across the tissue above the patella. The man cried out, falling to his knees. At that moment, another swung down on his exposed back. Geralt thrust to the right just in time to save his head from being split open. Instead, the hit landed on his shoulder, slicing through the thick muscle. Geralt grunted, flipping the steel sword in his grip until the blade pointed back, and pushed until he felt it pierce the soft tissue of his assailant’s stomach. The grip on the sword embedded in his shoulder immediately loosened as the man gasped his last breath. Geralt rolled to the left to avoid a hit from the fourth man, using his silver to cut across the neck of the second man, still on his bloodied knees. He collapsed, tripping the first who’d gotten up and was charging for Geralt, sword held high.

Geralt threw his silver sword. It sailed through the air, piercing the oncoming attacker straight through his heart, and it gave Geralt just enough time to plant his remaining blade into the ground and pivot around it to kick a leg out. It caught the fourth attacker by surprise as he scrambled to find his footing. Geralt took the momentary distraction to rise up, backing away towards the man with his silver sword embedded in his chest. Two of the remaining five advanced forward, coming to stand beside their comrade. The final three remained by Beldin, ready to attack but protecting their baron for the time being. 

Geralt braced himself, ignoring the blazing agony radiating from his sliced shoulder. His mind was carefully blank, his attention focused solely on the fight. He reached the corpse to retrieve his silver sword. Spreading his feet, the Witcher gestured for the soldiers to attack. They hesitated only for a moment before rushing forward. Two of them reached him at once, and he crossed his swords in front of himself, catching both of theirs in the middle. They pushed forward, but it was no use. Geralt shoved them back, simultaneously pulling back his swords. They stumbled into each other, disoriented, and Geralt swung his silver blade, neatly slicing off the head of the first. The other backed away just in time to avoid the same fate, just as the third pushed past him. He held his blade close to his chest, eyes narrowed in determination, but Geralt leaned back, avoiding the swinging sword. He feinted to the left and the guard over-swung, giving the Witcher a clear opening. He thrust his steel blade upwards, catching the man in the ribs, the blade slicing straight through and into his lungs. He pulled it free, spinning on his heel and blocking a blow from the remainder of the trio. One arm occupied and the attacker successfully held back, he slashed his other sword at the man’s waist. The blade cut through his flesh like a knife through warm butter. He howled in pain, dropping his sword to clutch at his side. Geralt rose, sidestepping the man as he bled to death. 

Only four men remained, including Beldin. The lordling in question had turned red with rage, sputtering obscenities at his fallen lapdogs. The men next to him stood stalk still, waiting for a command. Around them, a dozen bodies lay bleeding and lifeless. Geralt would feel for them but they were here for the sole purpose of harming his cub. He bared his teeth, ignoring the pain coursing through his body as he repositioned his swords. Most of the horses they’d brought had long since fled, likely frightened by the stench of fresh blood. Beldin, almost hysterical with anger, shrieked at his remaining men to attack. 

Two of them charged forward, one coming at him from the right and the other head-on. Geralt dodged a sword swung at his neck, arching back. Unfortunately, that left his legs unprotected, and the one coming from his right swung his blade through the air, slicing open Geralt’s thigh. These two were clearly better trained than the rest had been, royal guards instead of low-ranking soldiers. Geralt dug his knee into the ground, wincing in pain but managing just in time to cast Aard. His fingers spread, just the middle bent forward, he released a wave of magic that pushed the oncoming assailants back. His energy was depleted, so his magic wasn’t strong enough. They flew back a couple of feet, landing roughly on their backs, but rose just as quickly, swords in hand. It gave Geralt enough time to right himself, and he considered that good enough. Just as he was preparing to attack, a familiar scent caught his attention. Dread pooled in his gut. 

Jaskier had come back. 

He couldn’t smell Ciri anywhere close, but the bard had returned. Geralt’s eyes darted around the clearing, but there was no sight of a brightly coloured doublet anywhere. Panic coiled low in his gut as Geralt tensed, but he couldn’t let his concentration stray. He needed to be here, in the fight. Geralt only hoped Melitele Jaskier wouldn’t do anything to endanger himself. Adrenaline pumping through his blood as he stalked forward. The two soldiers he’d thrown back had been joined by the third and final attacker. The trio began moving around him, one positioned in front of him as the other two darted around to his back, just outside of his field of vision. He tried to get his mind to focus, but his attention was split between the three assailants and Jaskier’s wafting scent. The Witcher couldn’t point out where Jaskier was hidden but he knew that it was close. 

That momentary distraction was what the soldiers were looking for, and as Geralt's attention wavered, they lunged. The man in front of him raised his sword high and struck down at Geralt as another aimed for his flank. Geralt parried the first blow but wasn’t quick enough to avoid the blade that struck his side. He twisted away enough for the cut to remain fairly shallow but it left his injured shoulder open as he lost his footing. This allowed the first to bring his sword down but Geralt shoved himself back. He avoided the hit, landing flat on his back but kicked out, catching the approaching man in the balls. He toppled over, groaning in pain but his comrade charged forward. He swung his sword down and the Witcher rolled to the side. He threw his silver sword again, losing a weapon and tearing the wound in his shoulder further, but the blade hit home, catching the man in his stomach. Geralt leapt to his feet just as he fell lifelessly to the ground.

Injured and with only one sword remaining, he tracked the movements of the remaining two assailants. Behind him, he could hear Beldin’s cackling as he taunted the Witcher. Geralt paid him no mind, rolling his good shoulder, steel sword gripped tight. The two soldiers circled around him, narrowed eyes the only thing visible from behind their masks. Geralt growled. He couldn’t cast Igni, or any Sign, not with one arm practically limp against his side and the other in use. Casting would require dropping his only weapon and he couldn’t afford that. It was especially dangerous because the two attackers were on opposite sides of him. He could kill one with Igni but leave himself exposed to an attack from the other. 

Geralt took in a deep breath, pushing through the searing pain from his wounds and steadying himself. He waited for one of the men to make a move, eyes darting between the two. The one on his right launched forward, only to feint to the side when Geralt made to swing at him. In that instant, his sword arm was unprotected and he felt before he heard the second soldier leap to action. It felt like everything slowed down or a second. He could practically hear the whistle of the blade slicing through the air and he tensed in wait for the attack, but it never came.

Instead, he heard the choked grunt of the guard behind him, and Beldin’s outraged cries that followed. He took the opportunity to swing exaggeratedly to the side, catching the first man off-guard before he pulled his arm sharply back, thrusting up to slide his blade swiftly through the man’s throat. He turned just in time to catch a wide-eyed Jaskier shoving a dagger deeper into the shoulder of the remaining attacker. The man fell to the ground just as Geralt strode over to bury his sword into his ribs. With a final groan, the last soldier died. 

Geralt grasped Jaskier’s arm, pulling the bard behind him as Jaskier dropped the knife, trembling slightly. He smiled nervously at Geralt when the Witcher glared at him. 

“You’re welcome?” he said, hesitatingly, but Geralt gave no reply. 

He turned to the livid baron, who’d begun backing away from the clearing. Beldin glared when he caught Geralt’s gaze, standing defiant as he held onto the reins of his nervous steed, but the Witcher had caught his minuscule flinch. Geralt strode forward, Jaskier trailing behind him, sidestepping all the dead bodies. The air was filled with the scent of congealing blood and already, there were insects buzzing around the corpses but Geraalt focused on the warm familiarity of his bard as Jaskier followed him. 

Geralt came to stop in front of Beldin. The baron shifted, hand going to the hilt of his sword but the Witcher was faster. He sliced his sword, cutting shallowly into soft tissue. Beldin yelped, clutching at his bleeding forearm. The lord sneered, eyes darting around the campsite before coming to rest on Geralt’s again.

“Looks like the name Butcher fits you quite well, no?” he jeered, malice clear in his eyes. 

Behind him, Geralt heard Jaskier sputter indignantly, but he remained impassive.

“I told you that you would not leave here alive, Beldin. I intend to make good on that promise.”

Geralt never liked killing humans. They were, for the most part, weak, defenceless against someone of his calibre. Their skin wasn’t rough or hardened like that of a griffin, not scaly and tough to cut through like a drowner’s. They were soft, easily cut down. Blaviken had weighed on him for months afterwards, not just because he had had to kill Renfri. Humanity was the very thing WItcher’s fought for, protected, and it made him queasy each time he had to kill a human.

This one, though, stood before him couldn’t be considered such. 

Willing to murder a child for the favour of a vengeful king, hunting down innocents in his pursuit for power. Beldin was the kind of evil that made ghouls and kikimores look innocent. As long as he breathed, Nilfgaard would know where to find his Lion cub, an army of soldiers would March upon his home until they destroyed everything he held dear. It was with this final thought that Geralt ran his sword right through Beldin's racing heart, twisting the blade before retracting. 

Geralt watched the life drain from the baron's eyes, feeling not a single inkling of remorse. 

All was silent but for the rustling of browned leaves fluttering in the wind and the rhythmic beating of his bard's heart. Geralt watched as the last horse, Beldin's, raced away before turning. He took in the sight of Jaskier, a little muddied but very much alive, and tugged him to his chest.

Jaskier's arms wrapped instantly around him, winding across his waist to clamp onto the back of his tunic. His arm brushed against the slowly-closing cut across his flank and Geralt winced but held tighter to his bard when he attempted to pull away.

"Geralt, Gods, you're bleeding everywhere," he whispered, loosening his arms, "we need to treat the wounds, come _on_."

Geralt chose to ignore Jaskier's chastising words, curling a hand into his hair as he buried his nose into the soft skin of his neck. Jaskier's faint scruff brushed against the Witcher's temple as he shifted. Geralt felt the moment his bard gave up, huffing out a sigh as he stroked Geralt's uninjured side. He turned his head, pressing gentle kisses to the Witcher's hair as he mumbled soothingly.

"It's okay," he assured, squeezing his side, "we're safe. We're okay."

Geralt felt the tension drain from his body at those words. He gave himself a few more moments to just hold Jaskier close. And if he whispered a mantra composed of three little words over and over, pressing them into Jaskier's skin, well, no one was alive to bear witness to it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was probably the least exciting chapter for me to write because like, i have absolutely zero experience in fighting or writing about fighting so i have no idea whether this turned out good or not. it was also a lot more technical, and lowkey i just wanted to get it done and get to the fluffy, feel-good bits of the story lol.
> 
> i rewatched geralt's fight with the men and renfri in blaviken a few times to kind of get an idea of the moves and movements geralt uses. that fight was quite short, though, and while it's a lot of fun to watch, it's a lot harder to use as a basis for the fight scene in this chapter. 
> 
> still, i think it turned out okay and while it wasn't the most fun to write, it was definitely an experience! also, i was totally not going to just half-ass it or skip over it? it had to be in the fic because doing anything else felt like cheating, lol.
> 
> also, i debated a lot on whether i wanted to include that "i love you" that geralt says. for the longest time, i couldn't decide whether that was something that the characters would have done or not, but then i was like, you know what? these idiots are adults and in love! geralt has shown he has more emotional depth than a goldfish, he can absolutely say those three little words! ahhhh! and then, i went for it.
> 
> i hope you guys liked it! god, we're almost done with the whole story ahhhhhh 
> 
> also, i just wanna say thank you to all the wonderful people that drop a kudo or comment. it's always so nice to see your thoughts and get feedback and also just, i love reading about what your favorite parts were or what you're excited for, so thank you guys! 
> 
> [tumblr](http://an-intronerd.tumblr.com/) :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> they finally get to kaer morhen! and meet vesemir!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OH MY GOD this is so late! i was supposed to have this chapter up age ago, but the last week has been so hectic for me. my cousin and his kids temporarily moved in with us and so we've had a very full house and i've had all of 5 minutes to myself since then, probably! they're in the midst of moving because their landlord is an unfeeling asshole and it's such terrible timing, too, because of the pandemic right now but he was so adamant they clear out. WHO DOES THAT omg. so they're here with us until their apartment is ready and we're staying as safe as possible. sorry, gah i needed to get that off my chest, i'm so upset for them. anyways!
> 
> i'm sorry that i'm posting a little late. i never had a strict schedule but I tried my best to update within two to three days but unfortunately, life sometimes gets in the way.
> 
> i hope you all enjoy this!

It hadn’t taken the duo long to find their princess once again. Jaskier had explained while leading them through the woods that he and Ciri had only gotten a mile or two upstream before she demanded they turn back. She was adamant that Geralt would need them and the only reason that she’d stayed behind was that Jaskier had convinced her it would be safer for Geralt if he only had to worry about one of them instead of two. He’d ridden the horse right back towards their clearing, stopping just shy of the battle site to tie Roach up. At the last minute, he’d grabbed one of Geralt’s daggers too, and had hidden in the trees until he saw what the last guard was aiming to do.

They’d stopped briefly when they’d reached Roach to bandage up Geralt’s mauled shoulder and clean off the rest of his wounds, but Geralt had been anxious to return to Ciri so they hadn’t been taken care of properly. 

Upon reuniting with the princess, Ciri ran into Geralt’s arms, apologizing profusely when she rammed into his side and reopened the wound there. That was what drove Jaskier to force him to sit, stripping off all his layers to run a damp towel over the bleeding wound and proceeding to rub some healing salve over it. Only once all the injuries had been dealt with and Jaskier deemed Geralt ready to dress, did he let himself relax, shoulders sagging. He sent Ciri to refill their waterskins, waiting until she was out of sight to crash his mouth down on Geralt’s.

The Witcher responded immediately, pulling Jaskier onto his thighs, a position reminiscent of the last time they were in a forest and not fully dressed. His tongue delved into Jaskier’s open mouth, mapping out the slick walls as his bard keened. Jaskier seemed to be having the same thoughts as he leaned back, chest heaving.

“One of these days, we should really find a bed to do this in,” he giggled, both hands cupping Geralt’s face. His thumbs caressed the points of his jaw as he leaned their heads together. 

His gaze grew serious, one hand sliding down to the bandages covering Geralt’s shoulder. His touch was so careful, no hint of pressure pushing down on the wound as he ran a flat palm over the curve of his muscles. The wound had closed up a while ago, but there was still a small stain of blood dirtying the white of the cotton. 

"I almost lost you today," he whispers, voice catching, "and we've been doing this — you battling monsters and me watching from the sidelines — for a long time, I know, but — "

Jaskier stopped abruptly, lips quivering before he pressed them together, gathering his thoughts. His hand slid down to rest over the Witcher's slow-beating heart. Geralt watched as the bard fought to keep his composure. The Witcher's heart cracked at the sight of his lover barely keeping himself from crumbling at the thought of losing him. 

"Jask, this is the — "

"The Path, yes, I _know_. It just hit me how close it had been, today. How easily you could have been taken from me."

He shuddered in Geralt's arms, burying his face into the Witcher's neck. Geralt tightened his hold, running gentle hands up and down Jaskier's back. They stayed like that for a while, lost in their thoughts but relieved they'd gotten to hold each other once again. Jaskier huffed, then, pulling away to look at Geralt again.

"You can't tell me to stay away anymore, I hope you realize," he stated, voice mirthful. His eyes were oddly serious, though, a little brighter than usual, a little wetter.

"Wherever you go, I go."

"Hm," Geralt rumbled, catching Jaskier's eyes in wordless gratitude. 

"I'm taking that as a yes, darling," he smiled, patting Geralt's cheek before leaning forward for a chaste kiss. 

He climbed off of Geralt's lap, offering a hand to help the Witcher up just as Ciri returned. She smiled in their direction, packing away the refilled skins before bounding over. 

Jaskier ruffled her hair, allowing her to pull him away to their horses. The two chattered amongst themselves, preparing to leave. There were still a few hours of daylight left, and though they were no longer on the run, Geralt knew he wasn’t the only one anxious to get to Kaer Morhen. They had a few days’ journey ahead of them still, it was best to cover as much ground as they could. 

The trio rode on, covering good distance before making camp for the night, following the same routines they’d fallen into over the last few days. The next few days were spent similarly, if at a slightly less frantic pace. They spent the days on horseback, Ciri switching between horses, though more often than not, she rode with Jaskier, listening raptly to his songs and stories.

She’d grown especially fond of hearing tales of Geralt’s triumphs over various monsters and Jaskier took great pleasure in retelling tales through strummed notes and whimsical words. He often gloated that if even a princess found his songs amusing, then Geralt just had especially awful taste in music. Ciri had also asked to be taught how to play the lute properly, so the two spent hours during the day stringing notes together into half-formed melodies. Geralt felt Jaskier was especially in his element when he righted Ciri’s fingers or praised her when she got the notes for Toss A Coin right. Teaching came naturally to him, almost as easy as the music itself. 

Nights were spent huddled close for warmth under several blankets, their bedrolls pushed together. Ciri ended up in the middle, most of the time, curling up between Geralt and Jaskier as the bard sang lullabies to her. Geralt still felt a little awed at how quickly Ciri took to Jaskier, even knowing that his bard had probably a more present figure in her life than the Witcher himself. And Jaskier, his bard who never seemed to want to settle down in one place for long, who chose time and time again to accompany a Witcher on the road than to find a young woman with whom to build a life, had so effortlessly become the parental figure that the young princess had been lacking. His bard has settled so easily into the role of a father, it made Geralt wonder if this was something he’d wanted all along, yet never let himself have because of the Witcher.

Geralt himself was beginning to learn the ins and outs of parenthood, observing Jaskier interacting with Ciri, watching his cub herself more closely, picking up on the subtle changes in her mood, her expressions, her behaviour, and figuring out what it all meant. As the terrain flattened and the trees grew sparse, marking the end of the forest and the beginning of the rougher, rockier landscape of the Gȯry Sine mountains, Geralt’s resolve grew stronger. He was no parent, he knew nothing of being a father. He’d never known his, and Vesemir, while being the closest thing to a father than Geralt knew, was not the example he needed to follow for Ciri. Regardless, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would do anything for his cub, his daughter of Destiny. He would mould himself, break and reshape himself into who she needed, to fit around her like a shield, keeping her from all those that wished harm onto her. And he knew, just as surely that he’d have Jaskier by his side through it all. 

The trio had reached the base of the mountains within three and a half days, arriving so just as the sun began to set. Geralt knew this territory well. It was safe from monsters and mortals alike. The Witchers had eradicated most of the beasts that threatened them and no man ever travelled this far up north. However, while he was fine with the dropping temperatures and frosting grounds, Jaskier and Ciri had yet to acclimate. The only reassurance he had for them was that by this time tomorrow, they’d be at the keep. They left that night right next to the fire Geralt repeatedly relit. The winds blowing from the mountains caused the already weak flame to dwindle even more. 

Still, they slept, wrapped up in each other, relieved to be so close to the end of their journey. The next morning was filled with more enthusiasm and excitement than usual from both Jaskier and Ciri. They chattered all through a dismal breakfast of dry bread and freezing water about the school of the Wolf. When they’d exhausted their ideas of what the keep would look like, how many rooms it had, the kinds of training facilities existed within the ancient walls, they turned to Geralt. They demanded that he share more details and when he made the mistake of mentioning other Witchers, he wasn’t sure who was more thrilled, his bard or his Lion cub.

“I adore you, Geralt,” Jaskier retorted when Geralt took note of his growing interest in his brethren, “but you are the worst conversationalist I have ever come across — and while I wouldn’t have it any other way, I am quite delighted at the chance to speak to Witchers who will answer in more than grunts and glares — yes, _exactly_ like the one you’re giving me right now!”

Ciri also expressed her interest in watching the other Witchers train and teach her skills that Geralt didn’t have enough practice with or liked using. She was determined that she’d spend the winter training vigorously and sharpening her skills. They didn’t often refer to the war heading their way, nor Ciri’s role in all of it, not that they knew what that was, anyways, but Geralt could see the steel behind her cerulean eyes, her determination to learn to fight, to grow stronger and defeat Nilfgaard. If for nothing else than to avenge her family and the people of her kingdom. 

She was so young, yet already she carried such a heavy burden on her shoulders.

“They took everything,” she’d whispered, Jaskier stroking her hair as they rode towards Kaer Morhen, “and I was helpless to stop them. I just ran. I won’t do that again.”

Jaskier had smiled at her, a little sad, a little regretful, but so proud.

“Little lion, you are so strong, much more than you think. I have no doubt that your family is very proud of who you’ve become and all that you will be.”

That day, Jaskier had begun composing a song, a ballad, really, scribbling notes into his journal and answering whatever curiosities Ciri had regarding his process. He declared he’d write the greatest ballad about the princess with magic coursing through her vein, the power just waiting to be released. He’d compose the sweetest lyrics of the Lioness who could never be bound, never be broken for she was the heir of Cintra, born to serve her people and end a truly terrible evil spreading through the lands. Ciri had shone when Jaskier had sung a few lyrics, completely enthralled. Even Geralt was a little taken aback by the rawness of the music, the pain and perseverance that came through so clearly. 

When Kaer Morhen finally came into sight, the castle jutting out of the side of the towering mountains, nestled amongst the rock, Geralt sighed in relief. It was vast, sprawling outwards and stretching well into the forested area surrounding it. The river flowed on, deeper into the valley as it wound around the side of the keep. Pines dotted the slopes, as well as the dirt path that led them to the front gate of the castle and beyond, winding higher up towards the stables for the horses.

It felt good to come back here, to this place where Geralt of Rivia was born. It might be the closest thing to a home he had ever had, comforting and familiar though it may have lacked the warmth of such a place. He wondered as the snow began to flutter down from the sky if that would change. Jaskier lit within him a warmth that he couldn’t remember feeling before, and together with Ciri, they had become his family. Perhaps that had been what was missing. 

Soon, they were at the end of their journey, long and arduous as it had been. Geralt made his way up the winding slopes and across the wooden bridge, pushing open the heavy doors to the keep and stepping in. Jaskier and Ciri followed, leading their horses by the reins as they looked around in awe. They walked in, under an archway that stretched more like a hallway all the way through to the centre of the castle until they emerged into the main courtyard. The walls stretched far above them, several stories high and encasing them in as the snowfall increased. There were doors and hallways leading deeper into the keep along the far wall, but the one to their left was lined with weapons of all different varieties. There were wooden rests with shields and swords of all shapes and sizes leaned against them. Crossbows, flails, two-headed spears, and polearms hung from the stone and gleaming knives, daggers, and an assortment of other deadly trinkets dotted the slanted wooden shelves stretching the length of the wall. 

The snow fell harder, blanketing the ground in a thin layer of frost as Geralt took the reins from Jaskier and led Roach and Pepper to a sheltered shed, tying them to a wooden beam and letting them eat from the half-filled trough of oats and corn. Ciri wandered back to him, followed by Jaskier as they were led to a set of double doors leading farther into the keep. They walked through the darkened corridors, lit only by flickering lanterns hanging from the stone. The hallway was lined with doors, rooms, Geralt offered when Ciri questioned. 

These were rooms he’d grown up in alongside his brothers, most of whom had never survived past the age of twenty. He’d snuck down that second hallway there and into the kitchens with Eskel late at night when they’d been drained from training and craved some sweet raisin bread. He’d spent hours in that last room with Aubry, Frank, and Eskel, keeping Lambert company when he’d injured himself fighting a bear of all things. They’d been almost-adults then, preparing for the upcoming trials, not yet realizing the burdens that came with being a Witcher. 

The corridor opened up into the great hall, which held a wooden table on one side, with doors leading to the kitchens, and a large fireplace on the other. There were hearthrugs surrounding it all over the floor, with large, well-worn floor cushions and chairs. There was little decor in the keep, but this room was the homeliest in the entire castle. The fire was roaring, casting an amber glow over everything and Jaskier sighed in contentment when they entered, leaving the chill of the November air behind. 

Sat on one of the plush chairs was Vesemir. The man held a large, leather-bound book, the pages yellowing. He glanced up at them, eyes going first to Geralt, then flickering to his company. He raised an eyebrow, setting aside the novel as he rose. The man walked over, slow in his gait. The lines etched in his face made him seem worn and weak, though Geralt knew full well just how brutal and sharp on his feet the man could be in a fight. The older Witcher came to a stop in front of Geralt, giving him a critical once-over. 

“What did you do, get mauled by a pack of wyverns?” the man rumbled, eyeing the dirtied armour and various bandages peeking out from behind the rips in Geralt’s clothing.

“Drowners,” Geralt groused, “half a dozen, and then a group of Nilfgaardian soldiers.”

“Ah. So, you’ve broken your own rule about not meddling in mortal affairs, then?”

“They meddled in mine.”

Vesemir hummed, shifting to peer at Ciri, who was staring at him with open curiosity.

“Are you Geralt’s father?” she questioned as Jaskier stifled an amused gasp, “You look very similar, is all.”

Vesemir bellowed out a laugh, shoulders shaking as Geralt huffed, half in amusement and half in irritation.

“No, my dear, though I have come to think of all my students as family,” he answered, smiling at the princess, “and Geralt was one of my best pupils, in fact. A right pain in the arse, sure, but he trained hard.”

“You trained Geralt?” Ciri gazed at the elder man in awe as Jaskier let out hushes giggles, squeezing Geralt’s arm, “Does that mean you can help train me, too?”

Vesemir chuckled, opening his mouth to reply but Geralt cleared his throat. All three turned to look at him, Jaskier still smiling fondly. 

“This is Cirilla, the princess of Cintra and my Child Surprise,” he stated, ignoring Vesemir’s raising eyebrows, “and this is my bard, Jaskier.”

Jaskier only shrugged in amusement when Vesemir’s eyes flickered to him. 

“Your bard?” he repeated, “your _Child Surprise_?”

Geralt only hummed, and beside him, he heard Jaskier sigh.

“Yes, hello,” he greeted, “lovely to make your acquaintance. I am Jaskier, Geralt’s occasional barker, frequent travel companion, and life-long friend. Princess Cirilla of Cintra is Geralt’s Child Surprise, won as payment by Law of Surprise many, many years ago and long before Nilfgaard had risen to power. Which is why we’re here. As you may be aware, Cintra was besieged by Nilfgaard and they want Ciri, which we can't let happen.” 

Ciri was nodding shyly and adding bits of her own story as Jaskier explained their journey to the keep. Vesemir had led them to the seating areas while Jaskier spoke, gesturing for them to sit. Geralt watched as Jaskier and Ciri shook off their extra layers and settled into the cushions. The Witcher shook off his own armour, setting in on a low table next to the hearth before settling himself at Jaskier’s side. Vesemir seemed thoroughly invested in the story, agreeing that the Witcher stronghold was the safest place for Ciri to be and that he would happily train her, to which his cub beamed.

Jaskier’s hand absentmindedly came to rest on Geralt’s thigh, tightening every so often as he spoke of Beldin and how he’d held Geralt captive, only to follow them relentlessly north once they’d escaped. Vesemir caught Geralt’s gaze, eyeing the hold Jaskier had on him and smiling knowingly. Once they’d finished, Vesemir had offered them rooms to stay in for the winter, gesturing for them to follow him as he rose out of his chair. 

“Only a few Witchers tend to return during the winters, namely Eskel, Lambert, Geralt, and one or two others. Most don't, finding some place else to stay or continuing to take on contracts."

He led them through the kitchens and into another hallway. They strode past a few rooms, their doors closed until Vesemir stopped. He gestured down the hallway, turning to face them.

"Take your pick of any of these rooms," he said, clasping his hands behind his back, "Rest, get cleaned up and comfortable. You need it."

He gave them one last smile, heading back through the corridor. Geralt nodded at Ciri when she looked to him, bounding off and peeking into each room as she went. Jaskier slid his hand into Geralt's, leaning against him as they watched their cub debate between two rooms a few doors down. Eventually, she picked one, rushing in only to come back out a few seconds later. She stopped in front of them, smiling as she flung her arms around both of them. 

"Good night," she murmured, smiling up at them as Jaskier brushed her hair from her face. He bent a little, dropping a kiss in her head as he whispered the sentiments back at her. Geralt hummed in agreement, tightening his hold around Ciri before letting her go, watching as she closed her door behind her. Jaskier sighed as he glanced at Geralt, lips curling in a cheeky grin as he pulled Geralt down the hall.

"So, my dear Witcher, which one of these rooms is to be ours?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this was a really fun chapter to write! i was super excited to get to kaer morhen and write about this absolutely gorgeous castle in the mountains. i looked up pictures online for reference and it's so pretty! like, i wish it was real and i could go visit it! 
> 
> the reference picture i ended up using for this fic was [this one](https://imgur.com/hpMVuMQ/), if any of you are curious. there were definitely more picturesque photos of the keep, but i liked the angle of this one, with the trees and mountains around it. really fit the vibe i was going for.
> 
> ahhhh, and vesemir! i honestly don't know much about the character but from some of the fics he's been in, he always seems a little cold and standoffish, but i wanted him to be a bit more... open and maybe just a bit snarky, too. according to the wiki pages, he's a pretty fun guy lol.
> 
> just ah heads up: as of now, this fic is complete. mostly. in terms of the actual storyline, it's done. there's nothing else that i want to add to this, i like how it is. however, an eleventh chapter is in the works, but it's only partially written because it is all just porn and i just! AHHHH! i will write it eventually, but i like that even if that chapter isn't added, the story still ties up nicely. so, yeah, just. sorry, writing porn is so hard omg :(
> 
> [tumblr](http://an-intronerd.tumblr.com/) :)

**Author's Note:**

> oooof, this took such. a. long. time. to write!
> 
> i'm actually pretty pleased with how this turned out. can y'all believe i started this thinking "hey, i'll write a quick little geralt-apologizes-to-jaskier fic, no biggie" and look at the monster it turned into!
> 
> (i've never written anything this long. or even half this long, lol)
> 
> there were some moments i absolutely adored writing, moments that came out exactly how i wanted them to and made me so ridiculously happy.
> 
> conversely, there were moments where i felt like my writing was the absolute worst and no one would ever enjoy reading something this atrocious. those hit hard, but! perseverance is key, guys!
> 
> anyways, writing this fic was a journey i thoroughly enjoyed and i loved delving into the minds of these characters. ihe witcher was a show i started on a whim, bored out of my mind being quarantined and knowing absolutely nothing about it. i didn't even know there were _games_ , people. it's a little embarrassing to admit, but i'm not a video game person lol. needless to say, i fell in love immediately and binged the entire show twice over in a few days.
> 
> i hope anyone who decides to give this ridiculously self-indulgent fic a read enjoys it as much as i enjoyed creating it.
> 
> and to everyone who has taken the time to read this or has been on this strange, new, terrifying and exhilarating journey with me, thank you for all your love! 
> 
> \- momi


End file.
